Awoken
by Professor Maka
Summary: After being awoken from a nasty curse by an unwelcome kiss from an awkward Prince, Princess Maka is to be wed to her rescuer according to strict tradition as soon as preparations can be made. Desperate to avoid such a fate, Maka seeks the aid of a witch and finds herself alone in a strange new world. Can a snarky but good hearted pianist help her find her happily ever after?
1. Part I: Lost

**A/N: This was written for Resbang 2017. Thanks go to my betas, Sahdah, Sand, Laura, and Yulie for their eyes, and to my wonderful artists, Rogha and Sahdah. Their amazing art can be found linked on my tumblr page! Cover image is by Sahdah.  
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* * *

There is light, that's the first thing. And noise-so much _noise_. Angry, wild, unnatural. She opens her eyes to find the light is a blazing beam shining down on her amidst the darkness, and then there is a loud screeching, then blaring as she stands up, dazed. Lights are barreling towards her at breakneck pace, but they halt as the screeching does, and then there's silence.

Maka blinks at the lights, at the metallic yellow beast that has stopped before her, eyes glowing brightly in the dark of the night around her.

Drawing her blade, for surely this monster can mean her no good, she eyes it warily.

What is this strange place? Everything has too much texture, too much shine, too much brightness. Her mind is fuzzy, hazy, and she can't quite remember how she got here or _why_.

There is a loud creaking, the stomping of feet atop the strange, hard, dark surface on which they stand, then a man appears, backlit by the eyes of the beast. With odd clothing, a chin shadowed in what must be stubble, his lips twisted into what she's fairly sure is a scowl, Maka cannot decide if he's friend or foe in her upcoming battle against the currently dormant metallic monster.

"What the fuck lady? This ain't no goddamn renaissance festival. Get the hell outta the road!"

"I-road?" She blinks a second time. His tone is hostile, but he has no weapon, makes no move to attack, and his words are strange.

"Yeah, the thing you're standin' in the middle of, ya moron. You were almost meat, lucky for both of us I didn't hit ya, insurance woulda been through the fuckin' roof. Now get outta the way so I can move the damn car and get on with the night. Got a fare waiting."

"Car-uh-" she shakes her head. "But do you not fear the yellow beast? I would gladly help you slay it." She gestures towards the metal giant with her blade.

"Look lady, I don't know what kinda shrooms you ate at whatever geekfest you rolled out of, but you 'slay' my cab and I'll have your ass in jail faster than you can say Hogwarts. Now outta the goddamn way before I call the cops and ruin both our nights."

"I-" Maka shakes her head again. She's not stupid-she's put together that the yellow thing belongs to him, somehow, and is called a 'car' or a 'cab'-but it still doesn't make _sense_.

Dazed, she nods and walks away from the man, hitting some sort of raised white surface connected to the black one that must comprise the road he accused her of being in the middle of. Now that her eyes have adjusted, the black surface does appear to be some kind of path. Strange.

Even stranger, she hears a loud slam followed by an odd rumbling sound, then her eyes go wide as the yellow monster rolls by. Where legs might be it has wheels, and it fades off into the night, bright red lights on the rear the only sign of its passing.

So it's not a monster, she thinks, but some sort of-magical carriage?

Where has the witch sent her?

Hearing footsteps, Maka sees a stranger approach down the white path that borders the road. He wears some kind of knit hat and dark clothing, hands stuffed in pockets. She can make out little else as he looks her up and down, shakes his head wordlessly, then climbs nearby steps into a tall building made of stacked brick. Actually, as she looks around, she notices countless tall buildings hemming her in like some sort of canyon. It is odd and disconcerting. There's a haze of lightness surrounding everything even in the dark of night, even with the starless sky above.

Sighing, unsure where to go or what to do, she slides against the same brick building the man had disappeared into and sits on the hard, dirty ground.

 _Where has the witch sent her?_

The witch. That's right, she hired a witch. To… _To_ …

Kim, her name is Kim-a so-called "good witch," with bright pink hair and a predatory smile. The witch had told her that her memories might be hazy once she sent her away, sent her to a place where she couldn't be found.

Wanting to run far and fast-Maka remembers that part, too. And the overwhelming anger; at her papa with his red hair and his tears, at her mama long fled, at anyone and everyone, and especially at that smarmy prince.

As her eyes begin to flutter closed, heavy with the exhaustion of night and her journey and a deep, unsettling confusion, the memories flood back under the thick, impenetrable veil of sleep.

* * *

She sat up to see an unfamiliar face leering down at her. Smug. Self-satisfied.

"Who-where?"

Maka looked around. She was in an unfamiliar room, one full of light, frilly things and nonsense. She felt like she just got hit by a carriage, bruised and exhausted.

"Ah, Princess Maka, worry not for you are quite safe with me. I am Prince Ox from the land of Ford, your rescuer. For indeed, I have vanquished the dragon and bestowed upon you your first kiss to break the curse and win your hand."

"C...curse? And-my hand? And, wait, _Kiss?_ What in the nine hells do you speak of?"

The man before her, well dressed in well-crafted armor, with a bright blue tabard and an ornately pommeled sword sheathed at his hip, pursed his lips in distaste at that. His hair was brown and perfectly coiffed but for two odd spikes, one on each side, and his face was adorned with shiny spectacles.

"Do not trouble your-" he paused, looking her over "-pretty head about such trivial things, my love. It is for me to worry over important matters and you, as a proper princess, to worry only for your smile and your song."

Maka scowled, she could feel the expression marring her features, because _who was this utter twit?_

A throat cleared and she swiveled her head. Another man in far more worn armor stood off to the side, his brown hair in a practical bun. He stood leaning slightly against a long spear, dark with blood, the visor of his odd half helmet shadowing his eyes. The thing only covered the part of his head over his forehead and ears, leaving room for his hair to peek out from the top. Maka marveled that it stayed on at all.

"I think, Highness," the man interjected. "That it might be a mercy to explain the situation to your betrothed, seeing that her father, the King of Albarn, informed you she had been kept in ignorance of the curse in hopes to avert it."

At least this one seemed more reasonable, but the deep, drawn out sigh her first rescuer let out in response did nothing to endear this Prince Ox fellow to her as he met her gaze, exasperation clear in his beady, bespectacled eyes. He wasn't exactly her image of the ideal prince. Then again, her image of the ideal prince included one who remained far, far away from her at all times.

"Yes, well. Might I sit, Princess?" He gestured to the bed, to the small space near where she herself sat, and Maka shrugged her indifference.

There was a small meow and a black form jumped up on Maka's lap to hiss at the Prince.

"Blair!" Maka squealed, happy to see her favorite pet and, really, closest friend once again. "You're here! But how? And what's _going on_?"

Blair didn't respond, just curled up in her lap and purred, casting narrowed yellow eyes in Prince Ox's general direction.

"On second thought." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I think I'll stand. Ah, alright then. Since the sun grows high in the sky and we've a long journey ahead, the short version. Upon your birth, there was a witch called Medusa who had once been an-" Ox began to look uncomfortable, clenching and unclenching the hand resting on his pommel "-uh _friend_ -of your father's."

A cough interrupted from the retainer standing off to the side, one that suspiciously sounded like it contained the words "Ex-lover." Prince Ox glared towards the man for an instant before resuming his tale.

"In any case, the witch Medusa was displeased at not receiving an invitation to your royal christening, so after the other witches and fairies of the realm had bestowed blessings upon your birth, she and her sisters arrived to bestow a curse, triple wrought and unbreakable. One cursed you to never be happy in this realm. Another cursed you to ever be haunted by your past. But it was Medusa's curse that sealed your fate, for she wove a spell that would see you bitten by a vicious snake upon your twenty-first birthday, never more to awaken. And that might have been the end of your fate had not one mysterious witch arrived late to alter the curse. Claiming to be your fairy godmother, the witch used her blessing to change your fate, speaking that you would, indeed, sleep for all time unless one of royal blood passed through the trials she set to bestow upon you your first kiss." Suddenly, the prince fell to his knee, clasping the hand not currently occupied stroking Blair, who hissed her protest. Steadfastly ignoring the angry animal on her lap, the prince continued. "And so I have done. And so you have been rescued, and now, by your father's decree, we are to wed-is it not glorious, my own, my beloved?"

Stifling the urge to scowl again, both at his proclamation and his presence, Maka took in a calming breath. It's not that she wasn't grateful, because she was certainly glad not to be unconscious for eternity-though it did make her her rather unhappy to hear that her mouth had been violated without her express permission while she slept. Still, even she could admit the necessity in this case, however distasteful. But she was also furious at having been lied to all her life. Furious at her parents, at their retainers, at everyone and everything. _How dare they._ It was her life, _her life._

And to be wed to a man she'd never met? She had no wish to marry anyone, let alone a stranger, yet her father had the audacity, the sheer _nerve_ to promise her against her will? Well, she had a thing or two to say about that when they arrived safely back in Albarn.

"Yes, well, I thank you for your kindness and-service, Prince Ox, and when we return to the kingdom, I am sure you will be most handsomely rewarded. Shall we be on our way, then?"

"Yes, of course my love! Let us go- _on a journey!_ "

Oh no. _No no no no no._ She felt the air shift even before the disembodied music began and knew, _knew_ he was about to sing.

"For love's first journey is a time when both of us will sing. Both will laugh and both will smile upon this lovely spring!"

Prince Ox looked to her then to join the song as a duet, but she crossed her arms and shook her head. Instead of taking the hint to stop, however, he danced over to fling open the one stained glass window in the tower, and birds fluttered in, chirping merrily.

"And birds will fly and chirp and cheer to echo our sweet song. And all the people in the land

will dance and sing along!"

Another look, another headshake, a hiss from Blair, and Ox took up a broom to dance with instead.

"Our dance will start as we begin, the road before us long, but as we laugh and dance and play,

the world will be our song!"

Dancing her way and tossing the broom to the side, he held out a hand to her in silent expectation. Sighing, she took it. The quicker this was done, the quicker they could _just leave already._ Maka scowled as he twirled her clumsily then pulled her with him.

"So as our new love starts to grow, that budded in the spring, let our journey now begin

with joy of which we sing!"

The music swelled to the last crescendo, and the birds fluttered around them as they exited, first out of the room then down the many winding steps of whatever tall tower she had been holed up in. Maka was just grateful one hadn't managed to leave a gift on her the same way several had on Ox's shoulders. Princes are really _not_ meant to summon wildlife in their song, but some had to learn the hard way, she supposed.

They passed a rather sad looking two-headed purple and black dragon on the way out, and Maka was fairly certain it was still breathing faintly. Well, good. Most dragons were docile enough creatures unless disturbed, and she had no wish for one to perish in her name.

Even better, there were three horses waiting for them at the base of what she could now see from the outside was a tall, fat, crooked tower, which meant a swift journey home. Perfect. She could already tell that minimal time spent with her rescuer would be preferable.

Turning to introduce herself to their third companion, for neither he nor the prince had bothered, Maka was about to speak when the Prince suddenly said,

"Hey- _hey!_ Wake up! You can't sleep-shit, you're freezing. And soaked. _Shit_."

The voice was too deep for the prince, but there it was. _What_?

"Hey!" The prince repeated, voice still wrong, and he was shaking her shoulder. What was this? Why would he…? Her confusion was palpable. This was all off somehow, so desperately _wrong_. "Well, I guess it can't be helped," the deep voice coming from the prince said with a sigh and then he was scooping her up, hands warm and strong as they held her and carried her towards the horses.

"Wha-"

And then her eyelids fluttered and her world went white.

* * *

Eyes flying open, the first thing Maka sees is the blinding light of the sun, so high in the sky it's visible over the canyon of structures overhead, even mostly surrounded by thick gray clouds. A dream. She had been dreaming. Relief floods her at the realization, followed by the sharp pang of regret because the dream was also a memory, and while her mind is still fuzzy, that memory is now clear.

Including the fact that the end of the dream was just _wrong_. Ox hadn't scooped her up like that, and why is she on her back, and what is this-warmth? She shifts her eyes, realizing she's being jostled, realizing she's suddenly out of the sun, realizing that there's a face swimming in her vision that is not familiar.

 _Who_? And what?

There's a strange ding, followed by an odd whooshing sound, and Maka screams, scrambling out of the hold of the man who carries her to fall straight on her rear. She scoots backward and springs to her feet in an instant, pointing as she reaches for her sword. It's gone, along with her pack, though her small satchel thankfully remains on her belt. Desperate, she fishes a hand inside to find her journal and brandishes it menacingly, whacking him hard on the head before dancing back further.

"Unhand me, you ruffian!" she shrieks loudly.

The man growls at her and clutches his head for an instant, clearly confused, before his face goes blank and he shrugs. "I'd say you're unhanded, and I was just trying to help-stupidly, I should add, because _what the fuck was that?_ "

"I don't need help," Maka seethes. Looking him up and down, she realizes she vaguely recognizes him as the man she had seen enter the building last night. In the odd light of-wherever they are, a small metallic room that is-moving?-she can see that he has changed clothes into some sort of cotton shirt with writing and designs along with dark blue trousers that look worn and faded. His clothing is decidedly odd, but it's his face that makes her startle-wild white hair, red eyes, and as she waves the book again menacingly, his grimace reveals unnaturally sharp teeth. "Especially not from some sort of- _demon_!"

His short bark of laughter is humorless, and Maka can't help but note the hurt that crosses his face.

"Yeah, demon who pulls hung over crazies out of the cold." He sighs, and there's a ding. Odd metal doors slide open with another whoosh and he's backing out, hands up and spread. "Look, if you don't want my help, go back down the elevator and leave. Sorry I bothered you, seriously. You were just alone and freezing and wouldn't wake up, and I thought you needed help. My bad. Won't happen again. Have a nice life."

"Ele-vator?" She blinks at him, following him out the odd doors into a large, bright space. It's some sort of open room, with oversized windows on one wall. There's strange looking furniture, and a large piano forte off in one corner. Maka still can't get over how odd everything looks, so detailed and shiny and _full_. Shaking her head to shake off the disorientation, she meets red eyes narrowed skeptically.

"Yeah, you know, that thing we were just in? Goes up and down?"

"Oh, um-" Come to think of it, she _is_ cold. And wet. And maybe he _had_ been trying to help. Maybe.

A wave of dizziness hits her, the newness of it all making her head spin, and Maka begins to shiver. She has to-to-she doesn't even know. The witch had said it might take time to adjust to her surroundings. Maybe this is what she'd meant? It all looks so off, so _wrong_ , and she's cold, she's _freezing_ , but she's sweating and her head feels like it's on fire. She realizes her vision is growing hazy, the world tilting dangerously. She needs to get out and _fast_.

"I-if you show me how this-elevator-works, I'll just be-"

The man steps closer, concerned red eyes swimming unsteadily in her quickly fading vision.

"-going," she manages to finish before she feels her knees buckle, before she feels warm arms catch her, before the darkness takes her.

* * *

The bed beneath her is soft and warm, that's her first thought as her consciousness begins to drift to the surface. She'd like to sleep longer, much longer, but somewhere buried within her mind, Maka knows that's a terrible idea, so she forces her eyes open reluctantly, grateful that the room is shadowed. She's not sure her throbbing head can take the light just yet.

Hadn't the witch said she would be disoriented, that her head might spin for some time after?

 _The witch_. A fuzzy memory surfaces, head still stuffed with cotton. Kimael Diehl, so called "Good Witch of the North," also well known as one who will perform mystical feats for money. Things like sending a desperate princess _Far, Far Away_ from where anyone would think to follow, to where no one _could_ follow without enlisting their own magical aid.

Apparently that's- _here_. Maka still doesn't know where _here_ is, really. Wherever it is, everything looks different, more textured, more vibrant somehow though also less vibrant in ways she can't quite put her finger on. It's weird, this place, though not in a bad way. Just so very _different_.

Anyway, it really doesn't much matter to her where _here_ is as long as it's very far from her betrothed. As long as Maka can live life as she pleases and not be forced into a so-called "happily ever after" with a man she barely knows and doesn't much like, she's content. As long as she can make her own way without the false promises of love and marriage and other such nonsense, then the witch has kept her end of the bargain.

Shifting herself to a sitting position because nature is calling, and quite urgently at that, she takes in her surroundings. She's in a bed, one with soft linens in a dark, cool shade she can't quite make out in the half light. The walls are a lighter color, though she's not sure which-a pale yellow, maybe-and there are a few paintings hung about full of people and flowers. It's a pretty space, she thinks, if the lace curtains are anything to go by. There are some sort of coverings beneath the curtains she's less familiar with, and Maka sees no candles, so with a small sigh, she throws off the covers and pads over to the window.

The window covering doesn't have a string, so she pushes the stiff fabric to one side to peer outside. It is still day, and the street is occupied. More of the strange carriages roll by in every color imaginable, and people hurry past on the street far below. The window is high up, so she cannot see them well, but there is no lack of movement in this strange place.

 _Where is she?_

Maka remembers the road last night, the carriage, the angry man. She remembers the white path and the brick building she had finally rested against, and she remembers-ah, the odd man who had taken her. He must have placed her here; that's the only thing that makes sense. Well, her dress is dirty from her time in the elements but still intact, so maybe he _had_ wanted to help.

The call of nature becoming painfully urgent, Maka steps back from the feast of activity the window affords and turns around. There must be a chamber pot in here somewhere, or perhaps a close stool, that would be preferable.

More light would help, but there are no candles in sight either, though she does spot something that looks like a lamp on the night table. She sees no wick, however, nor any lighting mechanism, so with a sigh, she peruses the room among the shadows. There's furniture, but no box for a close stool, certainly. Maybe there's a chamber pot under the bed? Squatting low and lifting aside the thick coverlet, she fishes around with a hand. Nothing. Repeating the motion on the other side, it's the same.

Perhaps there's a closet off the main boudoir for the stool?

There are three doors. Surely the one opposite the window leads to the main house, but the others might conceal what she seeks. Maka approaches the door nearest the window and tries the handle. It's not locked, so she pushes inward and is instantly hit by light streaming in from the frosted but uncurtained glass. It's not painful, having just been at the other window, but only just, her head still aching and sore.

Looking around, the room appears to be some sort of bathing chamber. There is a bathing tub, claw foot, with a curtain pushed to one side clearly meant to go around it. There is an odd sort of fixed wash basin with a mirror mounted above, along with a second wash basin, also mounted and oddly low to the ground, already half filled with water. Maka is tempted to freshen up in the smaller basin, but nature's call has become almost unbearable and there is still no close stool in sight, so she rushes out to the other door that might offer what she seeks.

The second door opens to a tiny room with a hanging rod and some shelves. A magical light attached to the ceiling flares to life as the door swings inward, and while Maka is impressed with such an innovation, she has no time to marvel as there is still neither chamber pot nor close stool in sight.

The bathing tub is sounding highly tempting at this point, but however reluctant a princess she might be, she has some dignity, curse it all, so her options have been whittled down to one.

Clearly, she will have to try the interior door and seek her rescuer, facing the utter mortification of asking after the close stool.

To hell with this strange, backward place. What type of boudoir contains not even so much as a chamber pot?

With a laden sigh, Maka closes the door to the storage closet and moves to the interior door. The moment she opens it, she notices music, drifting over from somewhere nearby. It sounds like piano forte, a deep, dark, haunting melody. Is the strange man playing, or is he hosting some sort of gathering? She's certainly not fit for company; her dress is looking practically ragged, and the dirt smudge she'd caught on her forehead in the looking glass that had hung in the odd bathing closet is entirely unprincesslike. While Maka has never much cared about such propriety, she figures she ought to at least try to make a good impression while still so unfamiliar with her surroundings.

However, not wetting herself is becoming far and away her most urgent priority, so company or not, she makes her way down a broad hall lit by more magical ceiling lights like the one in the storage closet, drifting towards the sound.

The melody is swelling, reaching some sort of crescendo as Maka herself reaches an open door not terribly far from the one she's only just left. Inside is a room dominated by a black piano forte, the walls, the floor, all else white and stark. The man who plays has his back to her, the piano facing the windows, but the white hair hints it is the man who had carried her before. Leaning against the door frame lightly, she waits, swept up by his playing. He hits a final swell before it goes soft, quiet, drifting off into oblivion like a last word, a final breath. It's sad. Poignant. Maka almost forgets how urgent her own need really is. Almost.

As the sound trails into silence, she claps politely, her deeply ingrained sense of etiquette kicking in suddenly and forcefully, and the white-haired man shoots up from the small bench on which he sits so suddenly that it clatters to the white marble floor as he whirls to face her, red faced and wide eyed.

"You scared the shit out of me!" he accuses from where he stands beyond the felled piano bench.

"I am sorry," Maka says immediately. Nature still calls most persistently, and as there is no party, only her odd self proclaimed rescuer, she would see to that first. "I was seeking you and couldn't help but to overhear. You are very skilled."

"So you-liked it?"

She manages an enthusiastic nod. "Yes, very well. It was really quite beautiful, but also very sad."

The man looks at her for a long moment then nods slowly.

It's awkward, the silence that follows, but Maka doesn't have time for such things, so she speaks into the pause.

"I-I apologize for the impropriety of this request, but I could find no close stool in the chambers where I awoke and was hoping you might advise me as to where one might be found within this dwelling."

Years of courtly etiquette help make the request that tiniest bit less embarrassing. That is until he blinks at her like she's instead just requested that he serve her the moon for breakfast.

"Close stool? I mean, if you need to sit, I know there's a couple reading chairs in the room." He's eying her thoughtfully, carefully, "Honestly, with how bad you looked, I didn't expect you'd be up yet, so you could also just go back to sleep. I swear I won't bug you. Door locks if you're worried."

Wait, does he think she wants to _rest_?

"I thank you for the offered hospitality, but I'm not tired. I do, however, need-I mean, surely there must be a chamber pot _somewhere_?"

Nevermind asking for the moon, now he looks as though she's requested the sun itself, slack jawed and wide-eyed like he thinks she's gone mad.

"Chamber-pot?"

Is it the very idea she might need one that proves so offensive? It _is_ a breach of etiquette to ask, but in an unfamiliar place with not so much as a chambermaid to be found, what else is to be expected?

Well, in for a penny in for a pound.

"Yes, or better, a close stool. I fear I must heed nature's call and only apologize for the necessity of asking, for it has become rather urgent."

"Nature's…" He still looks confused. "You mean you have to go to the _bathroom_?"

"Bath-room? No, I do not require a bath, I-"

"No." He waves a dismissive hand, interrupting. "I mean-you have to _go_ , right?"

"I-of course I will leave if you wish it, but it would be a small mercy to allow me use of a chamber pot first."

And then, he's laughing. _He's laughing._ She's frantic, she just may soil her skirts, and he somehow finds that _humorous_? Furious and desperate, Maka balls a hand into a fist, and as his laughter echoes, she lashes out, lunging forward to sock him on the arm, hard.

"Seriously, what the fuck is _wrong_ with you?" he says as he rubs his arm, eying her warily.

" _I have to relieve myself and the chamber in which I awoke contains no close stole_ ," she practically shrieks, then gulping in a breath, continues more calmly, fist still clenched. "I may use your bathing tub in desperation if you refuse to aid me."

He bites down, curiously sharp teeth poking his lip. It's easy enough to see he's choking down laughter, but at this point, if it yields answers, she doesn't _care._

"Yeah, I-" a sucked in breath, another bite to the lip. "Got it. Just. Follow." And then he's off in his strange, torn blue pants and tunic printed with an odd design.

Following closely, because _what choice does she really have_ , he leads her back to the chamber in which she had awoken. So there _had_ been a chamber pot hidden within! And she had looked so diligently, too. Feeling even more embarrassed, Maka continues to follow as he makes his way to the odd bathing chamber and stops just at the doorway, gesturing.

"The bathroom, milady." The man is grinning like he just found Xanadu and she wants to throttle him.

Maka stifles a scream, grits her teeth, and growls out, "I _know_ where the bathing chamber is, but I require a close stool-at minimum a chamberpot-" she pauses, because a horrifying, absolutely mortifying thought occurs to her "-or perhaps-" her brow wrinkles, her anger deflating "-you really _do_ answer nature's call within your bathing vessel?"

"Bathing-" his own brow furrows, and then he laughs again, though he also looks mildly horrified himself amidst the amusement. "Oh _fuck no,_ you think I shit in the _bathtub_? It's almost like you've never seen a damn _toilet_."

"Toy-lit? I don't-"

His smile fades and he looks something like frustrated as a hand sweeps through the back of his hair. "Yeah, toilet. Like a-like a chamber pot, I guess. Look."

Hesitantly, and with no small amount of squirming, she approaches the doorway and he gestures to the odd, low wash basin. She feels her face go hot. That's-that's a _close stool?_ If so, it's the oddest one Maka's ever seen, and she had nearly-had nearly-

Her stomach turns, but there is nothing within to come up anyway, so she nods her understanding and is happy to see he's not such a fool as to stay where he has no place as he makes a quick beeline for the chamber door. "I'll just be in the hall," he mumble-grumbles over his shoulder before shutting the main chamber door just as Maka is herself nearly slamming the door to the bathing chamber and maneuvering her skirts, eying the odd close stool skeptically. Well, it seems as though it _should_ work. And it's not like she has many options.

It turns out it's quite sufficient to performing her business, and she sighs in relief as it is done. There are no rags for cleaning herself after, but there is some sort of odd paper on a roll next to the-toy-lit he had called it-so she assumes these soft papers are meant for freshening. She only wishes she might freshen the rest of herself, but with the basin empty, Maka has no chance, so she closes the lid of the strange close stool. Leaving the bathing chamber, she wonders how the maids manage to empty it since it seems quite fixt to the ground, and laments her lack of a way to cleanse her hands as she continues on to the door that will lead out of the sleeping chamber and back to the hall.

At least she is no longer in desperate straits and can speak more productively with this stranger who has seemingly taken her in for the moment. Perhaps she might even learn more about this odd world the witch has sent her to.

Yes, the witch, _of course._

* * *

Her memory is so much clearer now, and the bargain she had struck comes back in force. So _this_ is what she had meant when she said, "it might not be what you expect." Kim had a reputation for being able to solve any problem-for a price. In Maka's case, she had plenty of means, and the magic mirror and large sack of jewels she had offered up for a way out of her impending marriage had been a small price to pay. They were mere baubles, the legacy of the heritage she is trying so desperately to escape.

The little cottage had been so neat and trim it might have belonged to a virtuous woodcutter's daughter destined to marry a prince rather than a known witch, but Kim _is_ a good witch and they tend to keep things on the level. Her bubblegum pink hair and odd clothing had been Maka's first tip off that she was a bit-odd-but odd could be good in such cases. Odd often came with power, and the power to change an undesirable destiny was what Maka had been seeking so desperately.

Opening the door in an unusual sort of short dress, the witch had grinned at her broadly.

"Ah, Princess Maka of Albarn, yes? I've been expecting you!"

"You- _have_?"

"Sure have!" She had ushered Maka in, chewing on something incessantly before blowing an odd pink bubble out of her mouth and letting it pop before chewing some more. "I wouldn't be a witch worth the price if I wasn't, and trust me, I don't come cheap. Now. Have a seat-Jackie here will get us some tea while we have a bit of a chat."

Jackie, it turned out, was a tall, dark-haired woman wearing a rather dull looking gray dress, with her hair in a pony tail. Maka had envied her at once; the dress and hair looked entirely serviceable compared to her own ridiculous, elaborate gown and hairdo. She hadn't had time to really do anything about her attire, had simply stuffed some stolen clothes-a maid's dress and one of the male servant's outfits-into a bag along with other necessaries and sped away as far and fast as she could on her father's horse.

"Ah, don't mind Jackie-she's paying off her debt. Little trouble with some trolls in her homeland she needed the power to drive off, nothing you need worry yourself over."

The witch had settled herself on an inviting cushioned chair, gesturing to the chaise opposite for Maka to sit on. Settling her skirts, the princess had taken the proffered seat and offered the strange witch a tilt of the head, questioning.

"Now, then," the witch began. "You have a problem?"

For all she had sat down roughly, the witch looked almost dainty with her leg crossed, chin thoughtfully in one hand, attention completely on Maka.

"No, I've come for tea and a chat." It was probably dangerous to speak so flippantly to a witch, but Maka had been exhausted from the journey, far too exhausted to engage with the obvious and very nearly beyond caring. Sighing as Kim merely raised her eyebrows, Maka then continued. "I suppose you'll need the whole story. Fair enough. For the past few years, up until a few days ago, I was asleep. In a tower."

"Ah, the curse. Bellamore wasn't nearly thorough enough with the remedy for that one. I mean, to not even require a true love's kiss? Sloppy, tsk tsk." The witch had shaken her head in seeming disapproval before gesturing. "But do go on, dear."

"You see, that's just the problem. I was rescued by-a prince." The word left a bad taste in her mouth. "But I have no wish to marry him and I certainly do not love him. I don't even believe in love, really, but my papa is so thrilled that I've finally been awoken that he insists tradition must be followed. He won't hear my objections and believes that since Prince Ox kissed me awake, he must be my true love and it will all work out." Punctuating this with a sigh, Maka had smoothed her skirts in irritation at the memory.

"Well, most mortals don't really understand the inner workings of magic, and your fairy godmother _did_ rather botch that spell in her haste. It's understandable."

The look Maka had given her then could have scorched the earth.

"But of course," the witch added hurriedly, "your feelings are also understandable. I take it you want a way to get out of this marriage, then?"

"Well, yes," Maka answered, one impatient ankle tapping against the other where they were crossed daintily. "I would solve the problem of this impending marriage and grant myself the freedom to live my life as I please, happily." She had chosen her words with care. Witches were well known to grant just what was asked for and no more, often to disastrous effect. To find a way out of one marriage only to be forced into another wouldn't do at all, but the clauses of freedom and happiness should insure Maka would be able to do as she pleased and avoid love altogether since love couldn't possibly make her happy.

As the witch began to nod slowly, thoughtfully, Jackie arrived with cups of steaming tea, placing a tray that included sugar and cream on the little table between them.

"Do you take cream and sugar?" The woman asked Maka as she hovered over the tray.

"Ah, no, plain is good, thank you."

Jackie nodded and began to dump a lot of both into a cup before handing it over to the witch and stepping back.

Presuming the other cup was hers, Maka grabbed it up, put it to her mouth in a sip like gesture, but didn't let a drop cross her lips before returning the cup to the table between them. It is, of course, common knowledge that while it's rude to refuse refreshment from a witch, it is utter folly to actually ingest it.

Nearby, Kim had taken a few healthy sips before placing her own cup back down on the little table. Putting her chin in her hand, she'd continued to eye Maka for a moment before finally speaking.

"I can definitely help you," she said carefully. " _If_ you can pay my price."

Maka took in a deep breath. Kim had a reputation for taking tangible things, not voices or first born children, but that didn't make such a request impossible. Not that Maka intended on having children, but she needed her voice, and anyway, it was the principal of the matter.

"If I'm not mistaken, I believe you absconded with a bag of treasures from home. The gems I expect, of course, but what really interests me-"

 _Not the sword, not the sword, not the sword_ -Maka _needed_ that sword-

"-is that magic hand mirror you took. _That_ I could certainly use."

Wait, Kim wanted her mother's mirror? But it was-well, _useful_. Maka would need it to track anyone trying to follow her, plus it would help her keep an eye on things in general.

"But-you're a witch-I thought witches always kept their own mirror or crystal ball or-whatever."

The deep sigh Kim let out before blowing and popping another bubble of the pink substance she was still chewing on had warned Maka she was in for a tale.

"I have a mirror," she agreed, gesturing vaguely behind her to where a rather large, rather ornate looking rectangular mirror took up most of one of the cottage walls. "It's just not very _portable_ , and I do need to travel at times. Hazard of the profession and all that."

"But-it's not like you need a mirror all of the time." Kim's face took on an annoyed frown, and by no means wanting to anger the witch, Maka had quickly added, "I mean, maybe you _do_ , I was just hoping to keep mine."

"Look." The witch leaned forward, looking intently at Maka. "I'll level with you. There are things I need to check regularly on my mirror, important things, and your portable mirror would make that easier for me. They aren't easy to come by, but then again, neither are my services."

Maka nodded slowly, carefully. "I-understand." She really _didn't_ , but witches were mysterious always, and in the end, Kim's reasons didn't _matter_ if it gave her a way out. The mirror was useful and close to her heart, so she'd wanted to keep it, but it wasn't a deal breaker. Nothing was, really, if it got her out of marrying Ox. "Important things. I get it."

From the other side of the cottage, a clipped voice offered, "She means those awful otherworld dramas."

Blinking towards the strange not-quite-servant, Maka could only tilt her head in question as Kim hissed over her shoulder, "Jackie!"

For her part, the tall, dark-haired girl had stepped forward with a calculating gleam in her eyes. "She's got a real thing for the otherworld, _especially_ their entertainment. You should see the garbage she watches, especially the mini plays about those Kardashian people, it's-"

" _Jackie_!" Kim admonished a second time over her shoulder, tone scolding. "We _do not_ discuss these things with our marks-" she looked back to Maka for an instant before once again glaring at Jackie. " _Guests,_ " she corrected. "The princess doesn't need to know what use I have for her treasure, only the price to be paid." Head swiveling back to level the most predatory gaze Maka had ever seen her way, Kim added, "I require the mirror and the jewels if you wish an escape from this marriage, and that is all you need worry about."

Maka nodded her understanding, not wanting to agitate the witch further. It was never, _never_ a good idea to annoy a witch, princess or no.

"Then we understand each other," Kim said, tone still serious as she reached for her teacup. Taking a sip, she watched Maka from over the rim. "The real question is, are you willing to pay my price?"

Another nod, this one more firm. "If you can provide my escape, one that assures my ongoing freedom and happiness, then I will gladly pay what you require."

"Excellent!" Kim had replied with unfeigned enthusiasm, setting the teacup back down with a loud clank as she stood, clapping her hands together once. "Let's get that contract signed and get started then, shall we?"

The rest had been a bit of a whirlwind. Signing the contract, sealed with a drop of blood. Giving over her mirror and jewels as well as a lock of hair "to ensure proper functioning of the spell, and future tracking should the need arise," then the appearance of the large magical cauldron in the center of the cottage and the peculiarity of the witch's assistant, Jackie, somehow heating it with her own hands.

Kim's stirring and adding ingredients and chanting was so practiced that Maka had gotten the distinct impression the witch had done it before, probably many times.

Really, it had all been fascinating, and then it was over as Kim had dipped a sacred golden cloth in the mixture and used it to wipe down the massive magic mirror on the far side of the room.

"Now listen well. This is a portal to your escape. Your memories will be stolen when you go through, you will feel strange and the world will _be_ strange, but it will come back to you quickly enough." The witch looked serious and a little wistful as she reiterated briefly what she'd already explained in greater length long before.

"And here I can escape my betrothal to live as I wish and find happiness?" Maka had needed to be absolutely certain there would be no last minute alterations. The contract was binding, but caution was always best where magic was concerned.

"Yes," Kim agreed. "Now, are you going to keep wasting my time or are you ready to finish this bargain and step through?"

Putting her chin up proudly, shouldering her pack and straightening her skirts, Maka had put a hand on the pommel of her family blade, _her mother's blade,_ and stepped towards the mirror. "I'm ready." Her tone softened, genuine gratitude flooding her as she met the witch's bright green eyes. "Thank you."

Waving a dismissive hand, Kim smiled. "Pleasure doing business with you," she said as Maka stepped into the mirror.

As the light had taken her, overwhelming, Kim's last words for her had drifted in from some other place. "Just remember, it might not be what you expect."

* * *

Just what _had_ she expected? Her hand still hovering over the doorknob that will lead her out of the chamber, she can't quite say. A different kingdom? Perhaps. Maka isn't really sure _what_ she'd expected, only that it hadn't included strange textured surroundings and snarky would be saviors who laugh at her desperation. Though, she supposes, given that his close stool, odd as it is, is also in plain sight, maybe it _had_ been humorous. Perhaps not _kind_ on his part to laugh at her clear suffering, but certainly ironic that the suffering was so obviously unnecessary.

Mortification at her own ignorance, at her pleas for aid make her face feel hot, but really, it isn't her fault that this world is so strange!

Still, now that she must face her benefactor after such an embarrassing display, Maka finds she'd rather face her father's gross affections. At least _those_ she knows how to stop.

So much ignorance really is anathema to her.

Well, it can't be helped. Determined, she twists the knob to the door, expecting to seek her savior, only to find him standing just outside, leaned against the wall, looking decidedly bored. There's some cloth under one arm, and Maka wonders just what his game is. Why is he helping her, or is he really helping her at all?

"Hey," he drawls, pushing off the wall.

Strange as it sounds, the tone suggests it's a greeting of sorts, so she returns the gesture with a soft, "Hello."

"Found you some clothes to change into-you can use the shower if you want. Stuff might be a little big, but it's gotta be better than the renfest reject you've got on."

Though the words are odd, the tone isn't unkind, and Maka appreciates the offer of clothes. Still, it isn't her priority.

"I thank you for your kindness, and though I do not know what this 'shower' is, clothes would be most welcome as well as a place I might freshen up. But-"

He's gaping at her again and she's not sure why, so she soldiers on bravely.

"-I should very much like to ask some questions first if you would be so kind as to provide answers. You see, this place is quite strange to me, and I would know more of it before I do aught else." Maka keeps her speech formal, measured and diplomatic as a good princess should in hopes of gaining his cooperation, but he merely blinks at her again and yet again.

"Uh, look, uh-" he looks expectant, so Maka supplies him with her name.

"-Maka? That's-different. I'm Soul, by the way." He looks skeptical, as if she'd lie about something so trivial as her name.

"My mother was from the Eastern lands, far from Albarn. She chose my name, and anyway, it is no more unusual than Soul." Her attempt to keep her slight annoyance from her tone proves unsuccessful; Maka never has been good at masking emotions. But then it occurs to her she knows so little of this place it could be a common name here, and so, she begins to amend, "I mean, it isn't common in my kingdom, and-"

"Yeah, okay, both our parents were hippies or some shit," he cuts her off with a laugh and a dismissive wave of one hand. "Not my point. And you can cut the renfest crap anytime." When she doesn't respond because she honestly finds his words baffling, he continues. "Look, just, clean up, we'll get some food in you, and then we can get you home, alright? I'm trying to help you here, but you aren't making it easy."

The urge to scream is nearly overpowering because he isn't _listening_. Maka just wants answers, and this strange man is fixating on her _appearance_ of all things. Well, if he finds her state so appalling, clearly they will be at an impasse until she manages to groom herself. Biting down a rude retort is difficult, but again her training serves her. Perhaps those years of tormenting her protocol tutor had been unfair after all.

"I appreciate the opportunity to freshen up, thank you," she manages in a clipped tone. "If you would be so kind as to have a servant draw me a bath or even just fill the wash basin, I would be happy to do so-or you can even direct me to the well, I care not."

Why is he laughing again? He's practically doubled over in his mirth. Maka wants to punch him, but really, that's not going to help.

"I fail to see what amuses you so, sir."

Managing to bite back his laughter, he takes her in. "You really that into this cosplay shit or you hit your head or what?"

Feeling the back of her head, she shakes it. "I do not believe myself to be injured, no, and I do not know this word, 'cosplay.'" Maybe he's the one who hit his head? Or perhaps this world is so strange her words confuse? She really doesn't know.

The sigh he releases could rival her old politics tutor, Stein.

"Alright, whatever, I'll humor you if it means you'll actually listen. Follow me."

As he marches into the chamber from which she'd emerged, Maka follows him straight back into the bathing chamber.

"This." He gestures to the tub. "Is a shower. I'll even start it for you." There's a strange silver dial jutting out from the wall that he turns, and water begins to spray out from some sort of fixture located on the same wall. He spends a minute adjusting the dial, then moves the curtain to enclose the tub before opening a small cabinet and pulling out a big, fluffy white towel. Setting it down on the raised wash basin, he looks at her and shakes his head.

"So, shower. There's shampoo and conditioner and body wash, Wes insists on keeping the good shit in here. I'll leave the clothes on the bed. Come downstairs when you're done and we'll eat and figure out what to do with you, okay?"

"I-" she manages to nod, too busy marveling at the steaming water coming out from behind the curtain to have a mind for much else. "Yes, but, why did you not tell me your home had magical conveniences? That's amazing! So this is the 'shower' you spoke of! Perhaps my papa could contract a witch, it really is ingen-" the reality that she won't be returning home hits her hard and she cuts herself off. "My apologies, I didn't mean to carry on," she finishes, sufficiently sobered. "I thank you for your hospitality and for the use of your-shower. I will attend you downstairs when I am finished freshening up, as you requested."

Without a word, he rolls his eyes and leaves, closing the door behind him. Maka checks the handle and, finding a lock, employs it even as she hears the second door click shut.

Alone again and as confused as ever, she turns her attention to this shower. Clean first, then answers. She can do this.

Twenty minutes later, Maka feels refreshed. Leaving the shower hadn't been easy-the warm water, the scent of the soaps, it had been absolutely invigorating-but she had finally turned the odd contraption off with only a bit of trouble, grabbed the large, soft towel to dry herself, then made her way into the sleeping quarters adjacent to the odd bathing room. Her host has left the previously proffered clothing on the bed, folded neatly, so she pads over in her towel to inspect them, pulling up the items one by one. There are three, seemingly-an odd pair of trousers made of some sort of soft grey cotton, one of those strange tunics he seems to prefer also made of soft cotton, this time black, and emblazoned with the words Pearl Jam and some sort of odd rendering of a person, and another large cotton tunic of sorts with long sleeves and a pocket sewn in front. It is grey like the pants and has the word Juilliard emblazoned on it in blue.

She has never seen clothing with writing on it before, never seen any attire like this at all, but it's clean if a little worn, so she lets her towel fall to the ground and gets herself dressed, only lamenting the lack of undergarments slightly. Everything is far too big-she has to roll over the waistband of the trousers several times and cinch the drawstring tightly-but they cover her, which is all she desires just now. She can make herself presentable at a later time, not that presentability is her current priority.

As ready as she can be, Maka makes her way downstairs. At least she's clean now, and the second tunic is warm, so that's something.

A wonderful aroma permeates the air, that's the first thing she notices as she moves down the large staircase towards the bustling sounds she hears. Using her sense of smell, it doesn't take her long to find the kitchen, tucked to one side of the massive, open main floor. Soul wears an orange apron over his odd clothing and is currently setting down a plate stacked with hotcakes and bacon on the table to one side of the cooking area.

"Great, you're done. Hope you like pancakes. Don't keep much shit in the house even when I'm having company, so." He offers a half shrug, his face revealing little in the way of emotion as he returns to the stove and plates up another stack. "Sit, eat," he calls over his shoulder. "I'm just making my plate."

Unsure what else to do, Maka complies, seating herself in the chair in front of the plate of pancakes. There is a small carafe of (apparently) warm syrup and a plate with butter, so she avails herself of both as he sits down across from her with his own plate.

"Thank you," she says as she slides the butter and syrup his way before taking her first bite, and oh, _oh_ , it is _good_ and she is starving and she can't help it, she eats with relish though also with manners, not quite able to shake a lifetime of ingrained hyper politeness.

"This is quite delicious," she praises between bites before dabbing at the corners of her mouth daintily with the provided napkin. It is made of-some odd paper rather than cloth, but she doesn't let that bother her. It has already become crystal clear that wherever she is, there are many things that are very different from Albarn, and so, she would be silly to get hung up on every minor detail. It's enough that she's still trying to adjust to how odd it all looks, how full, how utterly strange.

Having placed his own plate across from hers, her host takes a seat and slathers his pancakes with butter and syrup as he answers, "Glad you like them. You're lucky my brother is coming into town next weekend so I sort of stocked the kitchen, otherwise all I'd have to offer would be some questionably edible Poptarts."

"Pop-tart?" Maka isn't sure what that is, but it sounds like a pastry. "I would have appreciated your hospitality regardless, of that I can assure you."

A noncommittal "Mmm" is all he manages, his mouth now full of pancake, and his face still betrays little as he finishes chewing and swallows. "Whatever," he says finally, adding, "so, you gonna tell me what's up with the renfest get up and what you were doing in the rain and where I can help you get back to, or _what_?" His tone isn't harsh, but neither is it conciliatory, and his expression is still neutral.

"I'm from Albarn," she says after finishing her own bite, holding her chin a little higher. "But I have no wish to -"

" _Albarn?_ Where's that, upstate? I'm not sure-"

"I don't know where this 'upstate' is, but Albarn is the blesséd southern land where the mountains kiss the sea. Although," her mouth purses. "I admit 'tis an odd place the witch sent me to. I suspect it is very far from my home, so far you would never hear of it if not for my presence. Mistress Kimael did say the place I was to be sent could only be reached through magic, after all. I must admit your land is strange, and while I do appreciate your kindness and concern, I've sacrificed much to leave my homeland-I've no wish to return so soon."

Frowning as he looks up from some odd rectangle in his hand, he shakes his head. "Not a nut house anyway," he mutters.

"Yes, well, I am not the type to chat with the squirrels often, whatever tradition suggests." She nearly crosses her arms over her chest in annoyed defiance, but really, she's much better served filling her belly, so she keeps eating instead. While she knows princesses are supposed to be beloved of all creatures, she has always found most of the forest variety a bit empty headed for her tastes. She prefers to limit her natural interaction to Blair and a few of the nicer hunting dogs her father keeps for festivals.

The man across from her has stopped eating, fork hovering over his plate mid bite, jaw slack. He blinks at her several times then shakes his head. "Nevermind where you're from, you need _help_. I should call-what, 911? Shit, I don't even know. _Fuck_."

"Yes, well, I really could use some aid to navigate this strange place, I must admit. Where are we anyway? What kingdom do you reside in?" She takes a bite of bacon, signaling her wish that he explain in detail.

Clearly, his royal etiquette is lacking, because he simply blinks again, shakes his head, and says, "Death City."

"Death...City? This is-what kingdom then?" It _is_ a rather morbid name for a town, but she's heard worse. The Duchy of Flay comes to mind.

"King-look, you're in _Nevada_ , in the United States-enough with the renfest bullshit."

It's her turn to blink. "You have said this word, 'renfest,' many times, but I fear I've no knowledge of it. Might you explain?" Actually, the places he names are confusing too, but she can only tackle one mystery at a time.

"Oh come _on_ , lady!" He rolls his eyes. "I saw your dress-if you didn't come from a renfest, I'll-"

"I _told_ you, I am unfamiliar with this word. If you would do me the courtesy of explaining, perhaps I could confirm your suspicions."

"You're really going to make me explain, aren't you?" he sighs.

"It was a request, not a command, but it _would_ be helpful."

"Fine, whatever, you win." He puts down his fork with a clang. "A renaissance festival, renfest for short, is a themed fair where a bunch of dorks dress up like they're in the Middle Ages, except not really, and other people go in to gawk at said dorks."

"Dorks-middle ages-I don't-" his explanation leaves more questions while answering little, and she's shaking her head. About all she understood is it's a festival of sorts. "You believe I am a celebrant from this festival?"

"How else do you explain the cosplay?"

"Cos-pl-"

"The _dress_."

"My dress was-odd to you?" So he's thrown off by her attire. The fact clothing standards aren't the same in this place is already pretty apparent by what they both currently wear, so she feels a little silly it's taken her this long to make the connection.

"No, people wear ball gown looking shit all the time in the middle of the damn city-of _course_ it was 'odd.'"

"In Albarn, such a gown would be considered normal daywear for members of the court. It is actually fairly plain for royalty, but I have ever preferred function over strict propriety, and in this my father has proven most indulgent. If only he would have proven so malleable when it comes to other traditions," she sighs out, her fork forgotten on her plate as she rests her chin in her hand for a moment. "But of course, I suppose he fears that not to follow protocol is to tempt the curse. Silly, old fashioned notion, but then, my father is a rather silly man."

Maka suddenly realizes she's rambling, musing aloud, and colors violently. This transport spell really has addled her brain! The fact he's blinking at her like she's grown another head again does nothing to ease her mortification.

"Alright then," she manages not to sigh her mounting frustration a second time as she wills the heat from her cheeks. "Clearly, you find my situation intolerable, and for my part, I have no wish to inconvenience you if my presence is naught but a burden. I am genuinely grateful for the hospitality-the meal and the shower and the place to rest unmolested-so I will gladly leave you in peace if you will but tell me where you have stowed my satchel and blade. And of course, I will have need to use the sleeping chamber a last time if I am to return your clothes."

"I-" he's shaking his head, his own fork also long forgotten "You can keep the clothes and I-it's not like I _mind,_ I'm just-" another head shake. He's clearly flustered. "And I'm not sure what you mean by your satchel and blade, but I haven't' 'stowed' anything."

"My blade was scabbarded at my hip when I left, and my satchel shouldered. Surely you must have seen them when you-" Maka colors at the memory of her own helplessness as he had carried her. It's _humiliating_ , and yet, she also can't help but to find his chivalry in aiding a complete stranger admirable. "When you aided me."

But he's shaking his head again. His face still reveals little, but there is something like regret in his eyes she doesn't quite get.

"Really," he cuts her off. "You were wearing the dress, that's it. I think I would have noticed a bag, let alone a sword. But honestly? If someone took your shit, you're probably lucky it's all they took. I caught the tail end of someone hot footing it around the corner when I came outside and found you, so I'm thinking my leaving scared them off."

" _Oh._ " The word cannot convey the sliver of fear, then mortification, then sheer _anger_ she feels in quick succession. How _dare_ some ruffian acost her in her weakened state, how _dare_ they take her things, _especially_ her family blade-nevermind she herself had absconded with it without explicit permission. And how dare anyone even _consider_ further molesting her in her helplessness?

The anger bubbles within her at the thought and she sucks in several deep breaths. She hates the feeling of helplessness, the loss of control. Maka only arrived here through much sacrifice, has come to this foreign place in order to take back her own destiny, and by the gods, she will begin here and now!

Even if she has to humiliate herself by using _that_ to do it. Well, she supposes, there are worse things.

Soul is still staring at her, face blank, so she meets his gaze. He may look like the child of a demon, but though he has been a bit snarky, he has been nothing but helpful thus far, so Maka decides to trust him in this as well. If he's lying, that truth will be known all too soon in any case.

"Do you have a balcony I might borrow?"

"A-er-no?" He looks confused. "But I have a pretty nice roof deck."

"This is outside and elevated?"

"Yeah, of course it's outside. And, you know, on the _roof_ , but I don't see-"

"If you would be so kind as to lead me there." She's the one cutting him off now, etiquette be damned. It's really not his fault, but she's _seething_. "I should be out of your way shortly."

"I-" he shakes his head again and sighs. "I'll take you there, but I'm not sure how it's going to help."

"Simple." She smiles his way, teeth flashing in undisguised anticipation. "I'm going to get my things back."


	2. Part II: Found

He keeps waiting to wake up, and it keeps not happening.

But really, _really_ , he must be dreaming.

Maka-the strange girl he had found only this morning slumped helplessly against his building-is currently pacing the roof in his cast off clothes, looking to each side, seeming to take stock-of what, he can't guess.

Maybe Blake slipped something into his drink again-"to help uncork your sphincter, brolo, you are wound waaaay too tight. No need to thank me, dude. Your friendly neighborhood broctologist is happy to help pull the stick out of your ass anytime." Punching his so called best friend had been completely warranted even if the intervention by drugging had happened in the confines of Tsubaki's apartment and he'd been watched by friends the whole time-blacking out, loss of control, these are things he fears beyond measure, and he'd made that clear after it happened. He doubts even Star would repeat such a drastic mistake twice, but how _else_ can he explain this- _this?_

The fact he's taken her in at all. The fact she seems to be trapped in some geekcon delusion. The fact everything is new to her, or at least, she pretends it is. The fact she'd been wearing a clearly expensive costume and wants to retrieve a sword-a _sword_ of all things. It's insanity.

Soul really should just call the cops, explain the situation, and let them haul her off to whatever asylum she's escaped, from but there's something about her that stays his hand, holds his tongue. Maybe it's the fire in her green eyes, the clear conviction, the sheer determination. Then again, maybe it's that he's still pretty sure he must be dreaming even if, in spite of the oddity, this dream feels more _real_ than any he's ever had, and so, what harm can there be in letting his weird little brain child play out to fruition?

When she stops next to him, it pulls him from his thoughts.

"Alright, I'm going to get my things back. You have my gratitude again for the hospitality, and I do hope you won't mind me coming back for my gown and to return the garments you've lent me when I'm able."

"I, uh, sure." Soul scratches the back of his neck, the intensity of her gaze more than a little unnerving. "I hope you find it," he adds, though he has little conviction she will. Then again, dreams are strange.

"Of course I will, but I do appreciate the support." Her smile is so sharp it nearly makes him shudder and he instantly realizes, not for the first time, that this is a woman to be crossed at his own peril. "Well, then." She looks away, looks out to the city, and steps to the edge of the roof. Her face is red before she turns away and he can't fathom why-but then, as she reaches the ledge, it happens.

Right there, on the top of his building, with no reason or provocation, Maka begins to sing.

He blinks. She's-really singing, and it's good, and there's even phantom music playing-when had she hidden a speaker?

Whatever. Dream, remember? Of course she's singing. _Of course._

And the _song!_

It almost sounds like the tune of an old _Wham!_ song he loathes, and yet, also, it's so clearly _not_.

"Rats and bugs," she sings, voice clear.

Then, "Birds and slugs."

Followed by, "Need to catch a thug."

And after, "So let's jitterbug!"

Finally, she breaks into full blown verse and he _cannot look away_ as things begin to _happen_.

It's the pigeons who first start flocking around her in an ordered pattern. Then rats start appearing at her feet, and all manner of bugs, especially roaches, as flies buzz merrily in the air. Soul bites down on his lip to help quell his lurching stomach because _he hates bugs._

The dream just keeps getting stranger as Maka really starts to belt it out and sway to the disembodied music before tripping down the fire escape, vermin trailing as she goes. Stunned, Soul can't help but follow. He's clearly in some twilight zone shit and he really needs to find out where this is going. Fortunately, the collected vermin naturally seem to give him something of a berth, and he's able to trail Maka down the stairs without incident.

"You are my only friends in this place, and I need your help to end my disgrace. To search this city wide, keep those wings and feet beating while you're at my side. Because something's wrong with me, Something's not right. My things were taken from my side last night as I slept far from my bed, I was dreaming, but I should have stood my ground instead!"

Having made it to the sidewalk, Maka keeps moving, following the lead of several rats spreading out before her like a living carpet. Soul has to bite down on bile again as he quickens his pace to be just at her back. As she notices his continued presence, she raises a questioning eyebrow, pausing in her song for an instant, but as he shrugs sheepishly, she just turns around and keeps singing.

"So help find my things before you go-go. Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo. Help find my things before you go-go. I don't want to miss them when you say goodbye."

Well, shit. This _is_ a cheesy 80s pop song knock off. _He knew it._ They're drifting into recurring nightmare territory, clearly.

Maka has reached the end of the block at this point, and as the undulating carpet of rats turns, so do they. There are people staring their way, shaking their heads and moving on. Yeah, the weird-shit-o-meter is off the charts and the sandman has long since entered for them all.

"Help find my things before you go-go, because I simply can't do it solo. Help find my things before you go-go, let's find the thief tonight! I wanna hit him hard, yeah yeah."

Happily skipping along, Maka pets a rat and lets a cockroach lite on her finger as she goes, and Soul's stomach churns again, but he still sticks close to Maka, fascinated and horrified and terrified at what will happen if he trails far enough behind for the swaths of creatures yet in tow to overtake him.

"You take all obstacles out of my way. Clear the path before me like a brand new day!"

And they do, too. People arc off the sidewalk, curving into oncoming traffic to avoid the onslaught of pestilence headed their way.

"We'll take this thief down with our wrath! And he'll be sorry that he crossed my path!"

Soul blurts out, before he can stop himself, "How do you know it's a he?"

Clearly, this is a mistake as the music comes to a screeching halt, and Maka turns to him, blinking. It's not her stare that makes him nervous, but the literally thousands of tiny eyes that surround them.

"Hm." She tilts her head thoughtfully. "Good point."

The music starting right back up as she turns away shouldn't shock him at this point, but manages to anyway as she resumes singing and he blinks after her for a moment.

"Or maybe it's a lady, I don't care. Whoever did it we'll make them pay their fair share!"

As rats and roaches start to move past him, Soul stifles a scream and scrambles ahead to reenter Maka's seemingly sacred circle, the small berth of respect her swarm of followers afford her. He's panting at the exertion but more at the actual anxiety of being so very _outnumbered_.

Maka, of course, just keeps singing as if they were in some Broadway musical and not in the heart of Death City, skipping among a biblical plague made flesh in broad daylight on a Wednesday.

"You may be vermin but I know you'll fight! We can fight together and make this whole wrong turn right!"

The idea she's serenading the local pests into compliance to find her missing shit hits and hits hard. This fever dream is crossing the line into drug induced paranoia, worse than the one and only time he experimented with 'shrooms in college. Obviously, finding Maka at all had been a dream. It's the only thing that makes sense, and it floods him with a mix of relief and regret. The second feeling he doesn't quite get, but it hardly matters. Soul doubts he'll remember much of this in the morning anyway.

Clearly the first thought about Star drugging him must be right, against all logic, and whatever he's given him is _strong_ , though what and when Soul can't manage to recall.

"So help find my things before you go-go, don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo!"

The massive, leading herd of rats has paused in front of a rather run down building several blocks from Soul's place, in one of the seedier sections of town. Lovely.

"Help find my things before you go-go, I don't want the miss them when you say goodbye."

The singing just continues on as the blanket of pestilence makes way before her as she approaches the door.

"Help find my things before you go-go, because I simply can't do it solo."

A small cadre of rats take the lead as she opens the door to the building, and as they stream upstairs, Maka follows, Soul still keeping close. Largely, she has ignored him in this little hallucinatory venture, but she's thrown him the occasional veiled look that is nearly withering and it makes as little sense as any of it.

"Help find my things before you go-go. Let's find the thief tonight! I wanna hit them hard, yeah, yeah friends!"

The rats pause before a door two flights up, dingy and worn, one of the sixes in 66 hanging loose to look like a 9.

"Rats and slugs!"

She snaps as she steps rhythmically back, and the rats form in ranks in front of her, then hurl themselves at the door, making bashing sounds. Soul cringes at the display, wanting to press against Maka in the urge to be farther from her 'friends,' but also not knowing her well enough to be able to do so. He presses his back into the wall as second best, her stiff form in front of him, stance wide as if preparing for a fight, far from comforting.

Seriously, _fuck this dream._

"Birds and bugs!" The strange girl he follows is still snapping to the music, and this time the pigeons and roaches and flies swarm from the stairwell and towards the door in a loud cacophony as they too bash into it in waves.

Only two waves in, the door flings open to reveal some middle aged, overgrown pierced monster, with dirty blond-brown hair and filed teeth clearly meant to emulate the freak of genetics Soul has naturally been cursed with, lucky him. He's definitely seen this guy lurking and had always pegged him for a dealer.

" _What the_ -?" The guy looks angry and startled all at once to find a mob of vermin at his doorstep, but what really catches Soul's eye is the oddity of the jeweled sword handle peeking out from a scabbard at his hip.

"Hey there's the bastard, move out now!" Maka half shouts, half sings.

"He's about to feel our anger, and how! He may try to run or even hide. We've got him now, don't let him get outside!"

Maka has lifted her arm as the man blinks, confused, towards the utter shitshow he has invited into his home. The open mouthed look of utter bewilderment, at least, Soul can sympathize with.

Then Maka lowers her arm and all hell breaks loose.

The only way Soul can describe it is the man is suddenly and forcefully _overrun,_ the plague claiming him as its target, and seconds of struggle later, the vermin clear a circle around him and he's sprawled out on his ass, clearly unconscious.

Maka steps forward as the pests clear a path before their queen, and Soul remains pressed against the wall, far too stunned for more.

Not real, not real, _not real,_ he reminds himself for all the molding against the wall presses sharply, painfully against his back and screams otherwise.

Humming an interlude, Maka first unbuckles the swordbelt and unceremoniously pulls it off to sling around her own hips, before her eyes swivel around the room. She disappears for a moment as she steps- _somewhere_ inside beyond what is visible to Soul, then, returning with some sort of large leather bag slung over her shoulders, moves back through the doorway to stop before him.

"Done!" she sings out, her entourage getting restless behind her as the phantom background music remains in a sort of holding loop.

"Those-are not coming back to my place," he manages, still frozen in his spot against the wall.

"Oh, yeah." Sheepish, she turns to her strange comrades.

"Rats and bugs!" she shout-sings.

"You helped me, now you can go-go, my things are all secure, so-so. You have my thanks now as you go-go, I'll surely miss you when you say goodbye."

In a sequence of events perhaps more puzzling than the gathering of pestilence, the swarm begins to move past them and away in every direction, the occasional rat, bird, or roach, pausing for a bit of personal attention from Maka.

"Yet now I'm set, so you can go-go, don't you worry 'cause I won't be gratitude as you all go-go, my friends, you were great in that fight!"

As suddenly as they came they are gone, the phantom music fading with them, and all that's left is Maka, looking rather red faced as her gaze moves away from the random thug still sprawled out on his ass behind them.

With the surreality of the plague of vermin dissipated and the music gone, the wood sticking into his back becomes more prominent, and Soul curses involuntary, peeling his back from the self inflicted torment.

"This-isn't a dream." The haze is gone and the truth hits him like a frieght train.

"Nope," she says brightly.

"I-" he's shaking his head violently, words scattering with his thoughts. "There were-and you _sang_ , and then there were-"

"Look." Her face is crimson and Soul's not sure if he should call it embarrassment or anger. "It's not like I enjoy singing summons, but I needed my things and it _worked_." Her hand moves to her hip as she taps an impatient foot.

"Singing-summons?" Soul is gaping again as he's reminded how weird this dream that isn't a dream really is, and he wonders if he's actually just gone stark raving mad.

"You don't have princesses here, do you."

It's more statement than a question, but he answers anyway. "Not-really, no. Not like that anyway. You're-you're saying you're a princess?"

The huff is loud and long. "I only told you that when I introduced myself." Maka looks at him for a moment, brow furrowed. "You look unwell," she finally says. "Let me help you back to your dwelling and I'll return these things and get out of your hair. You certainly seem as though-"

"You can stay-" Soul blurts before he knows he means to, and she looks puzzled herself for an instant before her face brightens, then shifts to a careful neutral.

"It is a most generous offer, but I would not trouble you fur-"

"I mean it," Soul cuts her off, and as the surprise returns to her features, he quickly adds. "Look, you're clearly new to the city." Or country. Or planet. Or dimension, his mind fills in the unspoken. "It wouldn't feel right to just- leave you on your own when I can help."

The grin that spreads on her face is like the breaking sun on a cloudy day, and he could almost sing, it's so warm. It's also absurd, the whole thing is absurd, and he should just walk away and leave her to her own devices, yet somehow he _can't._

He always has been a glutton for punishment.

"That's very kind of you," Maka finally says. "I promise it won't be for longer than it takes me to figure out this world, okay?"

"Take as long as you need," Soul answers, and as he steps away from the wall and to the stairwell, Maka falling into step beside him, he realizes, with more than a little consternation, that he actually means it.

* * *

A week in and it already feels like she's been there forever.

Soul is waiting just outside the dressing room in an upscale boutique as Maka is fussed and fretted over on the other side of the door, occasionally appearing before him fighting a prominent scowl as two attendants gush at her sides. The fact she seems to so intensely dislike the attention is ironic given her claims to royalty, but Soul finds the whole thing amusing enough to play along. Which, he supposes, is ironic in and of itself; he's never much been one for shopping.

Stepping out in the next find, she looks a bit less disgruntled with the choice. It's a _short short short_ black skirt along with a red tank top and some rather high boots. Pursing her lips for a moment, clearly fighting back a smile, she looks his way.

"It's-not terrible, right?"

"I dunno, I sort of liked the long cocktail dress you tried on last." Maka scowls his way and he relents. "Buuuut it looks passable, so I guess it's a go. We'll take that one, too." Soul looks to the women, both wearing identical plastic smiles, who nonetheless manage to look genuinely pleased. They should be; he's set to drop a pretty penny in this store. Well, it's not like he's ever much minded running up the family charge card.

And anyway, she _does_ need clothes, and he _has_ chosen to help her while she figures things out. Not that he's quite sure he believes the whole 'princess from another world' bit, but even if it's deception or mental illness greasing the wheels, Maka genuinely does need help, and Soul genuinely can't help but be drawn to her for reasons he still can't quite put a finger on. It hardly matters; he's got the time, space, and money to help her out, and she's interesting. Aside from which, he's still trying to decide just what that whole pied piper bit had been. Soul isn't convinced it hadn't all just been one giant hallucination, but considering that they had spotted the thug who took her stuff as they left the apartment one day and he'd run screaming, and considering as well she had actually gotten said stuff back, he just doesn't know what to think anymore.

Smiling at him genuinely for an instant, Maka turns around and marches back into the dressing room. It's more purposeful than graceful, and he finds he likes that about her, too, that she seems to have a stock of niceties, but prefers not to use them. It reminds him of himself in a way. Maybe that's the draw.

Or maybe it's that she's so damn strange and he's so damn bored. Probably, it's a few things. It doesn't hurt that she has wide green eyes that, more and more, do strange things to his heart rate, either. Is this attraction? It's not something he's really felt before. Eyes and lips and legs have had little effect on him _ever_ , but the more time he spends with her, the more her _everything_ stirs him in new ways. It's thrilling and terrifying in equal measure, and Soul doesn't know what to do with himself it's so damn _new._

His brother would definitely laugh his ass off at the sight, Mr. Cool as a Cucumber who brushes off every advance-following some girl with long legs and eyes like the spring. Actually, that's sure to happen far too soon since his brother is due to visit in a few days, _shit._ So much for his cool card. When Wes gets one look at Maka, he'll _know,_ and it'll forever be in his shame bank. He's already had to blow off Blake for days to keep him from getting too nosy.

Well, there are worse things than catching shit over a girl. Maybe. Probably.

Twenty minutes later, they are out of the store with two large bags. The shopping trip lasts another two boutiques and four hours, and when they are done, they really are loaded down with packages, boxes, and bags. Soul is glad he'd had the foresight to call for a car. No way this shit would have fit on the bike. He sort of wonders if she'd even be willing to ride with him. So far, they've kept to walking, and while she seems content to offer a punch to the arm when he's being overly snarky, she really doesn't get that close most of the time. Would she be willing to sit that way, so near? Probably not, nice as it sounds. Maka needs help, but if there's one thing he's sure she's not here for, it's romance since she scoffs at every sappy love story that she runs across.

Truth be told, he's not sure what she's here for-she's never really said. When he'd asked why she left Albarn, wherever that is, she hedged and mumbled something about having a disagreement with the King. Must have been some disagreement to send her to a different world, assuming she really is from some other world-still a stretch in his mind. Not that Soul minds hearing about her 'world.' Even if it is a figment of her imagination, it still sounds damned interesting. Maybe she should write a book.

They're almost home, which is nice; he's looking forward to a quiet evening of takeout and a movie. Maka's obsessed with the food and culture around her, and television and movies and books and the internet have become her means of educating herself, along with a variety of take out. Day two of her stay, she had discovered television, and spent the next two days glued to it like it's the next wonder of the world. For her, maybe it is.

Cars are still a wonder, too. At first, she hadn't wanted to ride in one at all-something about almost being killed by a metal monster-but she's grown more accustomed. Still, Maka will sometimes burst into a new slew of questions about them. Introducing her to Google has probably saved him from having to empty the contents of his brain like some sort of knowledge buffet before her onslaught of curiosity a dozen times at this point.

They pass a bus, a block from pulling up to his building, and she huffs. Maka has been looking wide eyed out the window the entire car ride as she always does, still in awe of pretty much everything, but at the moment, she looks incredulous as she turns to him.

"Can you believe that?" She's chosen to wear the black skirt and red tank home, a large improvement over his sweats and old tee she'd ventured out in, even if Soul finds the amount of leg on display shamefully distracting.

"Believe-what?" he blinks at her, ready at this point for anything.

"That!" She points to a billboard on a passing bus. It's an advertisement for the upcoming Beauty and the Beast live action film. She wrinkles her nose in distaste.

"I-it's a movie billboard?" He knows what's coming. Every now and again, Maka acts like fairy tale shit is real and tends to correct the details as if it's badly recited rumor.

"Yes, but they've got it all wrong! Since when is the Beast male? Everyone knows the Beast is a woman-her name is Arianna if you're wondering-and that Bella broke the curse. It was quite the scandal at the time. It's not traditional for princesses to marry one another, you know-it 'ought' to have been a prince." She rolls her eyes at this, clearly skeptical. "As if only commoners fall in love with members of their own sex! It's absurd is what it is, but anyway-they're clearly buying into the version some people want to peddle as true, but it's _not_ , trust me."

"I-trust you." Soul manages not to laugh. It _is_ funny, to hear her so adamant about a damned fairy tale, but he also can't help but to admire her passion. That type of conviction, it's amazing. _She's_ amazing. Strange, but amazing.

The smile that she offers at that is dazzling, spreading on her features and lighting up the world. "Well, good. You should."

They pull up to the his building just then, and Soul's not sorry to be spared a response. He feels far too much far too soon, and moments like this just underscore how one sided those feelings must be. For her, he's a friend and benefactor, so trust makes sense as they become more acquainted. For him though? Trust is nearly an instinct.

How has she wormed her way into his very soul so quickly? To hell if he knows. It's unlike him, to trust so easily. Probably, it's dangerous, but at this point he figures he's along for whatever ride she's taking him on. He'd follow her anywhere, he thinks.

When the driver carries their packages into his place for them, he's grateful. It takes the poor guy four trips, and as Soul directs him to leave them in Maka's room-the largest guest room-he is sure to leave a massive tlp. The man had worked for it, and it's not like Soul is particular in how he spends his family's money. Hell, since he's followed the path they chose for him, becoming the concert pianist they practically forced him to be, so he figures he's earned it.

Actually, that reminds him-he'll need to have the maid that comes in twice a week do a good scrub down of the second guest room. Wes is going to be enough of a whiny ass about being usurped from the bigger room by Maka as it is; no need to give him more cause to groan over some stray speck of dust. While Wes is far and away more easy going than Soul has ever been about most things, he's also a spoiled brat who expects his living space to be spotless and luxurious. While his public veneer is far too polite to voice this expectation to most people, all bets are off when it comes to his baby brother. Lucky him.

When the driver leaves, Soul makes his way to the upstairs sitting room and breaks out a bag of popcorn to pop since Maka has gone to put away her new things. Wes has given him shit for the small wet bar complete with microwave and mini fridge he had installed up here when he moved in, but really, who wants to keep running downstairs for snacks when you're trying to marathon a season of "The Walking Dead" or pull an online "Battlefront" all nighter? Certainly not him.

Sinking into the brand new leather of his overstuffed couch, Soul sighs. He still can't believe he'd had to order a new one, but what choice did he have? There had been enormous holes cut into it along with the curtains. Even the pair who removed the stuff and delivered replacements couldn't believe it.

Clothing shaped holes. In the furniture _. Who does that?_

Maka, apparently.

Her third day here, he'd woken up to find her cheerily preparing breakfast downstairs, or at least attempting to cook breakfast. She really can't cook worth a shit. All she knows how to make is cheese soufflé and she always burns it, all three times she's tried so far. The first try had been that morning, and Soul had marveled at her outfit as he tried to shove down his flat, blackened mess of egg and cheese without visibly grimacing.

When Maka had retrieved her things earlier in the week, there had only been a couple more garbage cosplay outfits, he'd thought, but here she was in a black leather jacket and plaid school girl skirt. Though oddly familiar, he chocked it up to it being a classic combo. It was a good look on her-especially the way it showed off her legs.

And she had seemed damn proud of it too, beaming beneath the heavy dark circles shadowing her bright green eyes as he remarked that it was a cool outfit.

"Ah thanks!" Her enthusiasm had been a bit much so early in the morning, and even more inexplicable coupled with such dark smudges-she really couldn't have slept much. In fact, she might not have slept at all-she was still up watching TV a few hours before when he'd woken up and drifted down the hall for a late night snack.

"I saw it on that magic television box, and since the clothes I brought aren't exactly _normal_ here, I thought I'd try. I had to borrow some fabric, though-I hope you don't mind!"

"Borrowed-fabric?" Yes, because he kept swatches lying around. Where had she found…

And then the familiarity _clicked_. That skirt. Soul had definitely seen that pattern before!

"Well, yes. From your sitting room with the magic box. I can hire a witch to mend it when I get more suitable attire, but I really did need to-"

He hadn't caught the rest as he'd flown up the stairs and into the sitting room, only to find clothing shaped holes cut into his couch and curtains.

When she had appeared behind him, clearly concerned, he just shook his head.

"You made clothes out of my furniture?" Disbelief permeated his tone, because _really?_

"Well, yes, I just told you that!" Maka sounded indignant, hand on her hip as she moved to face him. "And as I also said, I will happily hire a witch to mend-"

"Maka," he interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Like so much about her, this, too, had been surreal.

" _What?_ " Defensive tended to be a default for her, Soul was quickly coming to realize.

"We don't have witches here, remember."

There had been a sharp intake of breath and a muttered, "Oh. Yeah." At least she had the decency to sound sheepish. "I'll-replace them, Soul, when I can. I swear it!"

"It's-it's _fine_." He'd pinched harder, forcing a laugh. "Mom and Dad can replace it. And they can definitely afford to buy you a new wardrobe."

"Mom and Dad?" She'd shaken her head. "Soul, I don't-"

"Don't worry about it." He waved her off. "Let's just finish breakfast, alright?"

Several days later, they've finally managed the new wardrobe _and_ to replace the furniture. He's forcefully reminded of how successful the first part had been as she finally comes in and plops down on the other side of the couch, legs on full display. Actually, this couch is also much more comfortable than the prior fashion over function monstrosity his brother had pushed on him, so win all around.

"Ready to watch a movie?" Soul offers as she reaches over to take a handful of popcorn from the bag in his lap, and for as much as she doesn't sit as close as he'd like, it strikes him how comfortable she seems. They've spent a lot of time this week on the couch like this, only a cushion between them-watching things, or her reading as he plays a videogame, or her voraciously conquering Google as he scribbles out music he'll never share. Maybe they're both becoming comfortable.

"If you'd like," Maka responds with a small smile.

"Nah, I popped this for shits and giggles," he says before shoving a handful in his mouth for emphasis and moving the bag to the cushion between them. " _Cinderella_ okay?"

"You mean-there's a movie about Queen Danielle?" she gasps out, excited.

"I guess," he says with a small shrug. In truth, Soul's chosen a fairytale on purpose, her little outburst in the car reminding him of how much he enjoys witnessing her indignation when the filmmakers inevitably get it 'wrong.'

Really, though, he just enjoys her company, and since he realizes there's got to be an expiration date on how long she sticks around, he figures he should savor it while it lasts.

* * *

Leave it to Wes to ruin everything.

He shows up two days early, disheveled and beaming. Of course he'd flown in during a rare monsoon. _Of course._

Leave it to Wes to enter the house in a sopping whirlwind. Such drenching rains are rare and powerful and yet, the combination of rains and Wes and Maka have collated into the perfect storm right in the middle of his living room.

"Soul!" she shrieks, "There's a thief in the living room!"

When he rushes downstairs at the commotion, he finds Maka, sword in hand, wearing a pair of boy shorts and a tank top. She's waving her blade at another figure menacingly-his brother is in a black trench, hair plastered to his forehead and dripping onto Soul's living room floor as he eyes the photograph he's clearly scooped up off the table speculatively. It contains a strip of photo booth pictures of him and Maka together that she had both insisted they take as well as frame because, as she put it, his house "lacks the portraits of television homes." She had called it sterile, which he has to admit stings. There's nothing wrong with keeping things uncluttered.

"Unhand that portrait, ruffian!"

"Of course!" Wes returns, beaming her way like the cat who got the cream as he places the frame back on the side table. Then his gaze swivels Soul's way, calculating, to where he stands on the stairs in boxers. "Little Brother! You didn't tell me you had a new _friend!_ "

With a hand through his hair, and a deep sigh, Soul walks closer to both house guests. "Maka, Wes, Wes, Maka. He's not a thief, he's my brother."

The incredulous look she swings his way is well earned. He'd meant to remind her Wes would be visiting, he really had, but his brother is early and Maka's still settling, and things had been comfortable. Soul had been waiting for the right moment and, forgetting how capricious Wes can be, had waited just a bit too long. Well, shit.

"Your... brother?" The sword ends up back in the sheath at her side, and he has to admit he's surprise she has it on at all since he hasn't seen it in over a week, not since the day after she'd gotten it back. "Well, it's-nice to make your acquaintance." She is suddenly all smiles as she holds out a hand. He can't tell if it's meant to shake as she's seen others do now, or to kiss, but Wes being Wes takes it as the later, snatching up her fingers into a dry, chaste smooch.

"The pleasure is mine, I assure you." His voice oozes sincerity. Soul has seen this song and dance a thousand thousand times, and his brother turning it Maka's way has a fist clenching in Soul's stomach, wringing his insides.

"Now that we're all acquainted." Soul moves closer. "And since you're here _two days early at five in the goddamn morning._ " He glares at Wes. "Why don't we go get some breakfast?"

"Ah, well, I am a bit peckish, I'll admit." Wes is fairly easy to lure with a good meal and, just now, Soul needs a clear path to gather his thoughts. Breakfast, as predictable as it usually

is, should give him that.

"I could make something!" Maka puts in, and Soul has to bite back a groan. So much for predictability.

"I wouldn't want you to trouble yourself," Wes responds with his normal hyper politeness.

"Oh no trouble at all!" Maka beams and scurries off to the kitchen. "Hope you like soufflé!" she adds over her shoulder.

"Love it!" His enthusiasm isn't even feigned-cheese soufflé _is_ his favorite. Well, Soul figures, he'll learn. Plus really, the bastard deserves it.

Of course, Wes rarely gets what he deserves, Soul thinks darkly an hour later as they all dig into Maka's offering. She's attempted soufflé five times since arriving-she wants to pull her weight she always insists-and five times it's been burnt or undercooked beyond edibility.

This time, the sixth time, the damn thing looks perfect. Figures. _Fucking Wes_.

It's delicious, too. Maka sits across from them in the frilly apron Wes had gifted him on a whim and one of the skirt/blouse combos they picked up-she'd run upstairs to change when the soufflé hit the oven-looking more than pleased. Wes is going to think he's stumbled onto Betty fucking Crocker and Soul can smell the shit coming from miles away.

He might groan in wary anticipation if his mouth weren't too full of heaven for that. Who fucking knew she could manage something that wasn't raw or black?

A throat clearing interrupts his momentary bliss. "So, how long have you two been dating, anyway?"

Soul sputters and coughs and nearly chokes on his soufflé as he's caught off guard. Though really, this _is_ Wes, so Soul should have guessed he'd to cut right to it.

"Dating?" Maka furrows her brow as her eyes rest on her choking host in mild concern. "That's-isn't that when two people are involved romantically but aren't yet wed? I've seen it on your television, but it's not-" she shakes her head, color creeping up her cheeks.

" _We're not dating_ ," Soul finally sucks in enough air to gasp out, as much flustered because the thought isn't a bad one as by anything. Before Wes can interrupt with more ridiculous speculation, Soul sucks in another breath to hurriedly add, "Maka's new to town and I'm helping her get on her feet, that's _it_."

The rapidity with which she nods emphatic agreement stings a bit, but it's not like he hasn't realized the growing gooeyness he feels for her is destined to be unrequited. All things considered, that's definitely for the best.

"I...see," Wes says with a look that reveals he doesn't see at all but also can't be bothered to pry further. Though, of course that's just a bullshit Evans' tactic, and further prying is inevitable.

They get through breakfast with no more incident as Maka uses some reservoir of social niceties from her delusional princess stores to focus the conversation on Wes. She ooos and ahhhs in all the right places over the elder Evans' accomplishments and exploits, and even manages to turn the conversation to Soul and his own music. Maka has shown some curiosity over his profession, but since he's currently on a self imposed two month sabbatical, he's managed to largely avoid the topic. Her keen interest as Wes describes his prominence as a concert pianist makes him squirm, especially since he's well aware that it is his name more than his skill that draws conductors and audiences alike. Especially since he hates it so damn much.

Leave it to his brother to act like he's actually got _talent_.

Still, it leads the conversation away from Maka's presence, and that's something to be grateful for, anyway. The last thing he needs is for his brother to figure out she's borderline batshit.

He might have known the moment Maka excused herself upstairs that Wes would _pounce_.

"So. Little Brother," he begins, clapping a hand on Soul's shoulder. "Maka seems like a nice girl. Are you sure you two aren't…?" He leaves the question open and Soul groans.

"We're not _anything,_ like I told you. Fucking hell, Wes, lay _off_."

"If you say so," he replies arily, clearly unconvinced. "In any case, even if she's just a friend, at least you'll have a date to the Shibusen Charity Dinner. Novel concept, I know." He removes his hand from Soul's shoulder to lean back into the cushions. "Glad it's not me this time, anyway."

"Wait, _what?_ "

It's impossible to hide his incredulity.

"Shibusen's Charity Dinner. When that Mortimer fellow phoned father directly, he agreed that an Evans would be present. I guess they are looking to book enough important names to draw more donations, something like that. In any case, knowing you're about as social as a sack of rocks and that I intended to visit, I was originally solicited to attend for the family honor, but alas!" Wes sighs dramatically, draping the back of his hand over his forehead.

"Alas, _what?_ " Soul grits out.

"It seems mother was able to book me for a special appearance with the Russian National Ballet, so I'll be unable to fulfill that obligation-I'm actually here early because I can't attend-which leaves you, dear brother."

"You've- _got_ to be shitting me." Unbefuckinglievable.

"I am not shitting you in the slightest, you have my word. In fact, I really do wish I weren't since I'd love to see more of you with your-"

"-if you call her my girlfriend again, I swear to fuck Wes-"

"- _friend_."

Soul scowls but remains silent.

"She seems very nice," Wes continues. "A little odd, perhaps, but then, so are you, Brother."

"She _is_ nice," Soul admits. "And maybe a little weird, okay? But I really _am_ just helping her, and we really _are_ just friends."

"But you want to be more?" Wes suggests, eyebrows raised.

 _Does he?_

There is no good answer, and if, in this case, Wes takes his silence as assent, Soul realizes he might not be wrong.

* * *

The dress looks better on her than he remembers from the store.

It's a classic style, probably Chanel influenced if he remembers his mother's chatter correctly. Short, wide yet structured skirt and thick straps. It's black and gold and Maka looks amazing with her ashen hair swept to the side.

"You're-certain this is acceptable? It seems very short for a ball gown…"

"It's a dinner, not a ball. But yeah, you're good. And I'm sorry that Wes dragged you into this."

Her smile seems genuine as she dismisses his concern. "I don't mind, honesty. I'm curious about how such gatherings work here. If this is the proper attire, then it is already quite a change."

A heavenward eye roll is Soul's first response, followed by, "Preeeetty sure we've established you're from some weird backward place."

A glare follows on her part. "It's not weird, just _different_."

He shrugs because is there _really_ a difference when she thinks she came straight out of a fantasy novel?

Admittedly, he's still not sure what to make of that, of her, but Soul shoves it down because they need to leave, and while he hates these overwrought charity functions, the prospect of having Maka on his arm all night really isn't a bad one. He wants to bless and curse his brother for this all in one breath.

"Anyway, limo's waiting, so we should probably get going." Holding out his arm as he'd been taught to do in the presence of a lady, Maka takes it as he knows she's also been taught to do, and they make their way to the limo and then off to the dinner.

It really is a grand affair, with an expectantly sumptuous multi course repast followed by dancing. Maka seems absorbed, in any case, though she does occasionally ask him a hushed question about the clothing or the food or the people around them or the music. She doesn't exactly seem out of her element, which Soul supposes shouldn't come as a surprise considering she does claim royal blood. Delusion or not, it shows in the ease with which she navigates through the space, and when he remarks on it, she offers a polite little shrug.

"It is not so very different from such things in Albarn. Perhaps the attire is less modest, and perhaps the dishes are different, but in the end, it is very much the same." Maka sounds almost disappointed with that, though she smiles and attempts polite conversation just the same. Soul can't help but notice that she has become aware of her own deficiencies about what she calls "his world," and redirects or laughs off her ignorance as if it were intentional when she makes gaffes. It's almost dizzying, watching her interact with others as though she is in her element, and in a way, perhaps she is.

For his part, Soul feels as uncomfortable as he always does at these things, though having Maka at his side does prove soothing in a way he can't quite grasp.

Which is why, when he excuses himself to the restroom just after dinner ends and comes back to find her gone, his heart lurches.

Easy, _easy_ , she probably went to the bathroom herself-she's long since learned how to use one-or perhaps she was drawn away in conversation.

Or she could have been lured by some predatory son of a bitch, or could be- _fuck_ , who knew? Maka can take care of herself, he knows that, but she is also still pretty clueless about most things, and-

Soul doesn't hesitate longer, but moves to find her. He drifts by the bathroom for a minute, but with no way to verify her presence, his eyes scan the large ballroom. Dancing has begun, the live partial orchestra cranking out the classics, but there is no hint of ash or black and gold or green, so he moves his eyes to the perimeters and lets his steps follow. She is not among the crowds gossiping off to the sides either, so he starts checking the balconies that ring the space.

The first is empty, and on the second he finds a couple who are very clearly seeking privacy. The rabid blush that heats his face as he quickly shuts the doors behind him is as embarrassing as the scene itself, and he's flustered as he makes his way to the third balcony in a daze because he _did not need to see that._ He knows both men; one is Kilik Rung, a close friend from the jazz music scene he follows, and the other is the one actually throwing the charity event, Mayor Mortimer's very own son, Theodore Mortimer III, known to friends as Kid. Soul hadn't even realized the two knew each other, let alone… let alone… It hardly matters, he doesn't _care_ , he just has no desire to see anyone swapping spit, let alone pawing at one another so crudely. _Gross._

Maka, _Maka,_ he needs to find Maka. Because-danger. Or something.

More cautious approaching the third balcony, Soul tries to peer through the glass of the door, but it's too frosted too make out much more than there is a shape outside that could be Maka, but also could be someone else. There's also-music? Maybe? It's definitely not the orchestra and it definitely doesn't belong. _Strange._

The song sounds vaguely familiar, yet also not, and it's absolutely Maka's voice he realizes as he puts an ear to the door, but _why is she singing?_

Allowing himself to open the door just a crack, Soul blinks at the odd scene before him as Maka sings to a group of squirrels, birds, and a few stray mice and rats perched upon the balcony. The deja vu makes him dizzy.

"I'm watching the sky tonight." Her eyes drift up as she sings it, then she spins, her black and gold skirt fluttering. "Dreaming I'm still by your side." She stops to pet a squirrel, then continues on. "Watching this strange world wind around and round, I'll be coming home next year." There's a deep sigh punctuating that, a sadness, a longing that makes him long himself to hold her. Maka has shown plenty of emotion in their brief time together, but this is the first time he's ever really seen her sad.

Soul also hadn't realized she knows this song-she's clearly singing some modified version of the Foo Fighters-but with how much television she's been watching, and how she keeps the radio on when she sleeps, she probably _has_ heard it.

"I'll be coming home next year," she sings the refrain. "Everything's alright in here, I can't come back, but I'll be coming home-" she startles as she spins and spots him, and the music comes to a sudden, screeching halt, small animals scattering. "Soul!" she gasps. "I didn't realize-I mean-I'm-"

How flustered she is-Soul hasn't seen her like this since the first day, not really. And she'd been _singing,_ and there were small animals, just like that not-dream he's been trying so hard to forget. Is he hallucinating again or is she not actually off her rocker? Could she have been telling the truth?

His mind can't quite grasp that possibility, so he shakes his head to clear it. "I, er, I mean," he interrupts as he pushes the door open and steps through. "Was worried? So I came to find you?"

"Oh," she Maka breathily. "I'm-I'm sorry. I didn't mean-I mean, I was-" she sighs and steps towards him, putting a hand on his arm as she takes in a cleansing breath. "This-whole thing reminded me of home, and I guess, realizing I'll probably never see Albarn or-or my papa again, I got-homesick, I guess. So I'm sorry if I worried you."

"It's okay," he manages. "I understand." He doesn't, not exactly, though loss he supposes he knows. "I just-were you singing the Foo Fighters to _animals_?"

Biting her lip, she colors. "Um, _yes?_ I didn't really mean to, I don't normally like to sing, but, um, like I said-it just sort of happened. Sorry."

"No-it's-you don't need to be sorry. But we should probably go in, maybe go soon since dinner's over and the dancing's started."

"Oh!" Maka's suddenly smiling, but then her brow creases in thought. "But-I thought you said this wasn't a ball?"

"It's not?"

"But there's dancing,"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Then we should dance," she says matter of factly, as if there could be no other possibility. And he wants to protest because he _hates_ dancing, but as she smiles his way, he finds the prospect of dancing with her isn't exactly terrible, so instead he sighs.

"I guess," he concedes, holding out his arm and leading them to the dance floor.

As they face each other, she looks nervous. "Sorry I'm not-uh-very good." Her smile is both sheepish and determined and it makes him _warm._

"Don't worry." He smiles back in spite of any lingering reluctance. "I'll lead."

And before he even knows what's happening, they're _dancing._

Soul has always always _always_ hated dancing. Sure, he's good at it, but it's stuffy, it's formal, and his dancing master had been a real asshole.

Somehow none of that matters with Maka, and the world goes still around them as they dance the waltz from _The Sleeping Beauty._ Holding her close, one hand is warm in his as he touches her waist, as she grips his shoulder, as they move in time. Soul's never understood the appeal of dancing, only suddenly, he _does_. He could do this forever, he thinks, could lose himself in music and in _her_.

Only, _only,_ it can't last, of course it can't, and the orchestra comes to a confused, screeching halt as a sudden, impossibly loud cry of, "Maka my love, I have come!" fills the room, all eyes turning towards the source.

And standing in middle of the flung open balcony doors is perhaps the oddest man Soul has ever seen.

Wearing something straight out of a fantasy flick, all velvet tunic and breeches and codpiece with a sword on his hip, the man stands with arm outstretched and pointing straight at himself and Maka, the odd spikes at the sides of his otherwise flawlessly arranged hair practically quivering.

"I've found you!" he shouts gleefully, and at this, Maka ducks behind Soul, gripping his arms so tightly it's nearly painful. "But what's this? Unhand her, ruffian! Unhand my love, my one, my only, the fair Princess Maka!"

Soul wants to laugh and cry at the sheer ridiculousness of it all as he realizes the guy is actually talking to _him_ , wants to scream and guffaw all at once at the number of eyes turned their way, at the surreality of the whole scene, at being the center of such bullshit, but as the stranger draws his blade and comes barrelling towards them, mostly he just wants to run.

About to do just that and pull Maka with him, he's shocked to realize she's no longer there, even more shocked when she appears in front of him, her own blade drawn, stance wide. Where she'd managed to hide the damn thing is a mystery Soul has no time to contemplate as she stares down the stunned man with the sword, who has come to an ungainly halt several feet in front of her.

"My lo-"

"Prince Ox," she practically spits his name. "You are not welcome here. Go."

"But Maka, my love, I would only rescue you from the miscreant who has clearly taken you away fr-"

"I said," she cuts him off, voice low. "You are not welcome. Now. Go before I _make_ you go."

The man looks confused, his head turning to look for-well, Soul isn't exactly sure until he spots a man in armor several feet back holding a spear. He catches them exchanging looks and sees the man in armor rolling his eyes just before he slams down the visor of his helmet and starts to circle.

"Worry not, my love, we will see you rescued from this villain who has so clearly stolen your senses with his demon magic."

Music swells, not from the orchestra but in the same disembodied way that it has for Maka twice now, and then Ox is _singing._ What the fuck is it with people singing lately, anyway?

"Oh, my love, my darling," he begins, and this song is also familiar. "I've hungered for your touch! A long, lonely time." He steps closer, and Soul can see Maka tense in front of him. "And now, that I've found you here, love, I'll free you from this curse," he croons, stepping yet closer, "so you'll be mine!"

The man-Prince Ox-has no time to finish as Maka swings her blade his way and music comes to an abrupt halt when he's forced to parry. Shit. _Shit._

"My love, please, you must not-we must not fight."

"Then drop your sword, let us go, and there'll be no need," she says cooly.

The prince shakes his head, "I must liberate you, my own, my dearest, but I swear I-"

Again the man cannot finish, but not out of surprise. Distracted with his own blathering, Maka uses the opening to strike a quick, fierce blow to his head with the flat of her blade, and Soul marvels as the man collapses before them like a sack of bricks, dropping hard.

"Soul, we should-"

The audience-for it is an audience that circles them now, chattering loudly about it being a fine show, wow, and how Mortimer really out did himself-parts, and Maka cuts off her words and brandishes her blade as the man in armor approaches.

"Do you really want to end up like your Prince, Sir D'Eclair?" she says tiredly.

To this, the man reaches back to holster his spear on his back and, upon raising his visor, lifts his empty palms placatingly.

"Not really," he says flatly. "Just need to collect my liege lord, not fight in his stead. Please do carry on, Highness. I'll be sure to send him your regards when he wakes."

A curt nod is all Maka offers, and the crowd whistles and cheers as the man hauls the unconscious prince over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes and makes his way back to the balcony from which they'd come.

Soul wonders if anyone has called the cops, but based on the applause, he sort of doubts it-they think it's a show. Is it a fucking show?

Too stunned to protest, he lets Maka lead him out of the room, through the halls, down the front steps of the college, and into the night air. She stops at the stunned valet, who eyes her skeptically, gaze flicking to the sword so incongruous at her hip, but he still offers to summon their limo.

"Maka, wha-" As the man turns his back, she mutters a word, touches one strange, ornate gold and silver bracelet she's taken to wearing, and then the sword is gone, vanished into thin air. Soul blinks once, twice. "I mean, how-what-"

The valet returns, also blinking, then shakes his head.

"Limo should be here in just a moment, Mr. Evans," the poor guy recovers enough to get out.

Nodding his dismissal, Soul hears the man mutter that he must be losing it as he walks away.

He's not the only one.

"Where did the sword come from-where did it _go_? _Who the hell was that?_ " It comes out in a rush, a tumble of words, he's so confused.

"The sword-well, I made a new deal with Kim to get a charm to let me summon it since I can't really carry it in your world without scaring people, now can I?"

Even he has to concede the truth of that, but _still._ "So-it's magic. You-summoned it. Magic is-fuck, the thing with the bugs and rats and shit, that was _real_? Magic is fucking-it's fucking _real_?" His head is spinning, his world tilting, because seriously, _what the fuck?_

"I'm pretty sure we established that awhile ago," Maka sighs.

"And-and that guy?"

"Prince Ox. My-" she falters for an instant, then holds her chin high "-my _betrothed._ And we really must leave, because he won't be out for long and I don't want to him to find us again-and trust me, he _will_ find us again."

A betrothed. Maka has-a betrothed? She's _engaged?_

"That's your fiance? You're running-you're running from your _fiance?_ "

"It's a-very long story," she says as the limo pulls up. "And I swear I'll tell it to you, but for now-can we just go? I would really rather not fight him again if I can help it."

"Yeah, okay." Soul swallows thickly as he opens the door and they both slide into the limo.

A fiance. Maka has _a fiance._

There's an inexplicable pit in Soul's stomach as they speed off towards home.


	3. Part III: Free

Maka wants to curse Kim to the ninth circle of hell where she so clearly belongs.

How dare she- _how dare she_ help Prince Ox- _Prince Ox_ of all people. _How dare she_ break their bargain so blatantly, _how dare_ -

She's seething as she stares into the bathroom mirror at the witch who ruined her life.

Just when things were falling into place, just when this world was starting to make sense, just when she'd found a friend, _a real friend,_ this happens, _Ox_ happens. Maka has never felt so lost, so alone, so damn _angry_ , not even _before,_ not even when her papa refused to listen and forced her hand, forced her _here._

"In no part of our contract does it state I can't contract with another to find you. Your request was for the means to escape your impending marriage and find freedom and happiness. I can assure you, I have fulfilled those terms."

"Not if Prince Ox is _here_ , not if he keeps stalking me and eventually succeeds in dragging me back to Albarn! He won't give up, you must know that!"

Kim has the decency to look mildly embarrassed, but still she persists. "As the case may be, our bargain was fulfilled on my end. And the charm the prince purchased only allows him to find you once in a day, and even then, it will only inform him of where you are very generally, so you can certainly elude him easily enough. Now. Are we done here?"

Sighing, Maka shakes her head. "We're done. I hope you're happy."

The witch's smile is strained as she nods. "I am, and so will you be," she says, adding, "oh, and I've sent a surprise. No need to thank me." And then her image fades and Maka is staring at a blinking, haggard image of herself. _A surprise?_ If it's anything like the surprise she'd gotten earlier tonight, she wants nothing to do with it. Turning away in disgust, she blinks as she notices Soul is hovering in the doorway.

Well, there's _another_ mess she has to clean up.

"You were talking to a mirror," he says flatly. "There was a woman-in a mirror."

"There was," she sighs again. "That's Kim, Good Witch of the North. She's the one who sent me here."

"A witch. And she has magic." There's a resignation to his words she doesn't understand.

"And she has magic," Maka confirms. "She sent Ox, too. But since he can track us and I'm not sure if he can find us again, I need to leave. If I don't keep on the move, he _will_ catch up and-"

"He wants to take you back," Soul interrupts. "But you want to stay here."

"Yes." She nods affirmation because he's still clearly in some sort of daze, mind working slowly. Maka knows magic is strange in this world, but he's seen it before, this shouldn't surprise him, and she doesn't understand why he's so-so stunned. "With me gone, he shouldn't bother you again. I know I owe you an explanation, and I promise you'll get one some day when I can-when I figure out how to get rid of Ox-but for now, I really have to leave. So thank you-thank you for everything, but I need to-"

"I'll go with you," he blurts suddenly, forcefully, and it's her turn to be stunned, jaw dropping, mouth working uselessly.

" _What?_ " she finally manages.

"I'll go with you," Soul repeats. "You need someone to watch your back with that maniac after you. I can't-I can't let you go alone, can't let that asshole-I just _can't._ So I'll go with you. I mean, if that's okay?"

The way he actually offers, asks-the plea in his eyes because he's _worried_ -her heart melts, her pulse quickening. How can she refuse? How can she leave her only friend in this world behind when he so desperately wants to remain with her? Surey she can keep them both safe and away from the prince.

"Okay," Maka says, then nods. "Okay," she repeats, voice firm. "You can-we can go together. If that's what you want. I just-I've already disrupted your life so much, are you sure?"

His shrug, so casual, belies the magnitude of the gesture. "Yeah, no big deal, I don't mind."

And that's it, _he's going_ , and suddenly Maka feels far less alone.

Not half an hour later, they've both packed some clothes, and Soul is leading them into a small storage room at the bottom of the building that has a large door that opens out to the alley on the side. It's a space Maka's not been to, one surrounded by other residences for, as she'd learned many days ago, most of the building Soul owns is also inhabited by other occupants. It sounds a bit like a castle to her, though he insists he is no kind of royalty.

There isn't much to the room. Some shelves with various tools, some boxes stacked, and a large covered _something_ in the center.

Striding ahead of her, the pack on his back bouncing, Soul pulls the cover with flourish and grins at her as if she's supposed to be impressed. She blinks back because _what is this, exactly?_

It's not a car, it's too small, and it has two wheels like the bicycle things she's seen pretty often on the television. Actually, she's seen these too, though not quite as often-even seen them around, loud and fast. A bit like a motorized horse, maybe. A big, shiny, orange horse with wheels. Maka's always enjoyed riding horseback, so it's not that it's a _bad_ prospect-but when trying to hide from the prince and wearing such a short skirt, she can't help a bit of skepticism.

"What?" she manages finally. "Is-it?"

"Not an it, a she." He's still grinning. "Her name is Etta, and she's gonna get us where we need to go."

Her confusion is natural, she thinks. Soul has never mentioned this "Etta" before. They've gone out into the city many times together, but always before they walked or called a car. Maka hadn't even realized Etta _exists_ before just this moment.

Well, beggars can't exactly be choosers. If he's going and willing to provide transportation, that's good enough for her.

"Okay," she says, the word careful, and his grin widens. Is he _excited?_ She finds it strange, but really, _he_ is strange, the way he lives his life with so little care, so little responsibility. And yet, he often seems-alone.

Is it because she has invaded his life, stolen his time, or is this his reality? Maka doesn't know, but she finds herself thinking about him often, his humor, his intelligence, his willingness to care for and take in a stranger. Soul deserves more than a sterile home, she thinks, however spacious, more than a sterile life.

After stowing his bag in the large saddlebags attached to the contraption, Soul fishes out what appears to be some sort of shiny helm and hands it to her.

" _Wha-_ "

"Helmet," he explains. "To keep that big brain of yours from becoming road splat."

Pursing her lips as she eyes it, black and shiny in her hand, she notes that he has not pulled out another for himself. "And what of _your_ brain, Soul? Shouldn't it also be protected?"

A shrug. "There's only one, and you're my guest, so."

Maka could argue; she wants to argue. She also wants to get out of here before it's a problem, before Ox can find them and know where Soul lives, so she puts it on, feeling odd and muffled. Soul swings a leg over to straddle the bike and looks to her expectantly. Realizing she has to sit behind him with little room and-and-that she'll also have to swing her leg up to do it, she colors violently.

"I-you-might you turn away, please?" she squeaks out, because as much as she trusts him and as much as this world is very much different from her own, books and television have long since shown her that it is still not appropriate to flash one's undergarments at a person who is not a romantic partner, and they are only friends.

The color that spreads on his cheeks is oddly gratifying as he turns his head with a muttered, "Oh, yeah, sorry." Maka swings her long leg over with ease, though adjusting her high skirt to cover her properly is a challenge. It's a good thing his-his body will shield her modesty that way, though as she sits behind him, straddling the bike, her front unavoidably against his back, it makes her feel unaccountably warm. It's embarrassing, sure, but it's also-something else. Something new and confusing, though not precisely unpleasant. Not at all unpleasant, actually, which makes her cheeks heat further.

As does the reality that the only place her hands might go is on him.

"My-how do I hold on?"

It's not like Maka doesn't know, not like she hasn't seen people ride horseback double before, but she hopes she might save a shred of modesty by placing her hands-

"Eh, sorry. Probably best to hold onto me, though I'm pretty sure there's a handle under the seat if you prefer."

Fishing around beneath the seat, she's startled as the bike roars to life beneath them, loud and powerful, her hands flying to grip his waist. The large door opens of its own accord when Soul pushes some sort of button on a little box-another remote control, surely, like the ones that control the television and the stereo and the lights-and Soul drives them out to the alley before pressing the button again for the door to roll shut behind him.

Having long since learned that such things-automatic lights and televisions and all-aren't magic but a strange technology made possible by something called electricity, which is, as Google has informed her, really the same stuff as lightning-well, it may not be magic, but it's just as powerful, just as amazing. No wonder Kim is so obsessed with this world.

Ah, Kim. _Kim._ This is all her fault, really. Hire a greedy witch and the witch may also help the one you are paying to avoid. Really, it figures, and really, Maka might have expected it, but _still._ Kim had been the one to contact _her_ on the second day, after all, appearing in her bathroom mirror like some sort of apparition, a ghost of her past.

When she'd told her she was just checking in, Maka had almost felt like they were friends and confided her frustration that to carry her blade in this world would mark her as touched in the head. Kim had seemed so sympathetic, too, when she offered an exchange-a charm to summon her blade from a magical netherspace on her whim if only she would wear this second charm attached to the first that would allow Kim to keep tabs on her-purely to be certain she was well and needed no aid, the witch assured her even as Jackie said over her shoulder, "She just wants a way to see more of the other world easily, plus she thinks you might be interesting to watch."

If that really had been Kim's motive, it's not that Maka minds-more that she feels like she's been sold out since the witch is also helping Ox.

There's no sense dwelling on what cannot be changed, really. Even if Maka would love to lay the witch out just about now as she already did the prince. And what of the surprise she mentioned? After the shock she'd gotten by Prince Ox's crashing the party, the idea of just _what_ the witch is sending her way has her stomach in a knot. She clutches Soul more tightly as he weaves through the traffic of the city, finding an odd, almost forbidden comfort in his warmth, his very nearness, as she wonders what to do next.

At least she's not alone. That's something.

It isn't even another thirty minutes before they're in an impossibly tall, elegant building on the other side of town. It's made of glass, seemingly, and as Soul informs her when she asks, steel, and there are too many floors to count from the outside. Soul speaks to someone behind a desk, and before long, they're led into an elevator that takes them to the top floor. The view from the massive suite they are left in is dizzying. Maka didn't think it was possible to go so high without flying.

"What is-this place?" she feels compelled to ask as she presses her hands to the wall of glass that overlooks the city. The building is so tall, very few rival it, and the view of the lights spread out below like reverse stars is breathtaking. Maka finds her nose pressed to the glass and doesn't mind the chill as she looks in awe over the city, feeling like she might see the whole world from such a height.

"A hotel," Soul says as he walks up beside her. "A _really nice_ hotel, though there are also some offices and apartments mixed in. This one is the tallest building in the city. My parents bought it when I moved here because-well, because they're _them_ , I guess. Doesn't fucking matter."

Maka looks at him and notices he's shoved his hands in his pockets, something he tends to do when he's uncomfortable in some way. "Gave us a secure place so whatever. There's a lot of security, and no one gets in the penthouse elevator without a key and a fight."

The way he speaks of his parents puzzles her. Having witnessed the playfulness between Soul and his brother, Maka had thought he must have had a good family life, even if she also sensed some strain, some resentment-but talk of his parents shuts him down, and she doesn't understand. Yes, her parents-her parents can be a sore subject with her, too, but there are reasons, and she can talk of them, talk around those reasons-but Soul can't talk about his family. Can't-or won't-something. Even though they have indulged him and given him the world, seemingly. The building he lives in and everything else have come from them, and though he vaguely speaks of being a musician, though his brother had called him a renowned concert pianist, she has yet to see him do more than practice.

There's something else there and it concerns her, pains her precisely because it pains him. Soul's helped her so much, and he's genuinely her friend, someone she cares for, has been nearly since she met him just over a week ago. Has it been so little time? It seems impossible, she's growing so accustomed to this world, he's become such a fixture in her life. She _cares._ Too much, maybe.

"That's very generous of them," Maka says mildly. "To allow you such free use."

His scoff speaks volumes.

"An Evans could stay nowhere less," he says quietly, voice steeped in bitterness. "Already drives them nuts I live in a brownstone and Wes actually _stays_ there."

"So they-don't approve?" Maka knows she's prying, but she can't help it when he sounds so-so-angry. So _lost._

His shrug signals his unwillingness to say more. Perhaps-perhaps if she were to tell him her story? She knows she owes it to him. Not all of it, maybe, not the hurt, but if she shares it, it could show him he's not alone. Soul has certainly made her feel far less so.

Maka never speaks of this, not really, not to anyone but the faithful pet she hadn't had the heart to drag into hiding, but with him-with him it seems natural to say more, so she does.

"My parents-well, it's because of my father I came here. Really, it's because of my father that-that any of this happened."

"Your father-made you come here?" His brow furrows in confusion.

"It isn't that simple," she turns her head to face him, to meet his eyes. "And it's a long tale, one that even I didn't hear until very recently though it is of _my life._ Would you hear it yourself?"

"I," he sighs and shrugs, turning to her. His brow is still creased, his face conflicted. "I mean, I'd _like_ to hear, but not if-it's your story."

"Then I'd like to tell you," Maka says, forcing a smile. She slides down to sit and looks up at him expectantly, and he follows suit, sitting next to her, both looking out over the city through the floor to ceiling glass. It's soothing, somehow, all the lights, beautiful, to know they are among so much life-but also a little lonely being above it all, disconnected. It's a lot like her life has always been.

"When I was growing up, things-they were good, seemed good when I was very little. My Mama and Papa loved me, they cared for me, they protected me. Overprotected me, really, treating me as though I were made of spun glass, but so young I could not see it, felt only the warmth of their love. I couldn't see my father's worry or the line in my mother's brow above her bright smile, couldn't see how false and forced those smiles really were."

Soul did not speak to this, nor did she expect him to, keeping his gaze fixed on the city below.

"When I was perhaps five I began to notice. How Mama's smile didn't reach her eyes. How Papa always had other women tittering on his arm. I began to hear the whispers, too, to see how Mama frowned his way. And I began to notice how they sheltered me."

Maka hasn't spoken much to him of her past. Sure, little things, marveling at how different it is, the lack of magic, the wonder of technology, but little beyond. She catches his eyes trained towards her in their slight reflection in the glass. The red is as warm and startling as ever, and she offers him a small smile.

"My Mama was a knight, you know. She rescued my Papa from a witch whose clutches he had fallen into-whose-enticements he had fallen for, I suppose. And when she rescued him, he fell in love with her, the witch forgotten. My Mama was a hero. But eventually-eventually she could no longer stand his wandering eyes, his straying hands. Eventually, even her love for me wasn't enough to keep her by his side, so she left. Sometimes, I hear word of her, still adventuring, still saving the world, but I haven't seen her since I was eight." She wishes she could keep the pain from her voice, but she can't- _she can't_ -she's never been good at hiding her emotions. And anyway, showing him he's not alone-isn't that the point?

The small noise Soul makes in his throat she cannot parse, and his eyes-his eyes tell her little, thoughtful but steady-so Maka barrels on as she ever does, heedless.

"I always found it strange, you know, how my Mama was a knight, so strong, but I was treated as a helpless princess, an object to be seen and treasured and protected."

"But you can fight!" he finally speaks, incredulous. "I saw it, Maka. You're _amazing._ " Her cheeks go scarlet at such praise, even if she knows it's the truth, she _can_ fight.

"A few months before she left," she says, letting out a breath. "My Mama started to teach me. She showed me some things, and she arranged-she arranged for my politics tutor who had once been a great warrior himself to show me in secret when she was gone, to show me other things, too, and so he did and kept that promise. So yes, even though Papa wished to keep me from such knowledge, to keep me on a shelf, I can fight, and ride, and I have knowledge of philosophy and advanced politics and negotiations instead of just trivialities and etiquette. I know more than simply how to sing and summon wildlife and look the part I must."

"She must have cared, to see to your future that way," Soul says quietly, eyes showing something like concern, trained as they are on hers against the glass.

"I believe she did, yes." Maka can't help how sad her smile is, small and soft and bitter. "Just not enough to stay." The sigh she also cannot help, but she straightens her shoulders that have begun to slump imperceptibly and continues.

"So yes, I can fight. She left me her sword, her ancient family blade with a note saying it was mine when I needed it, though my papa hid it deep within the armory when he discovered it, insisting a proper princess would have no use for such things. But even _she_ told me nothing of my fate, nothing of my curse." Maka takes a breath, deep and cleansing. "After she left, for years I trained in secret, lived as I was expected in public, and confided in none but Blair."

"Blair?" The reflection of his stark eyebrows raise.

"My cat!" she says happily, because really, Blair has been the one steady, solid, truly _good_ thing in her life. Maka misses her terribly.

"Figures you'd talk to your cat," he says, but his smile is fond as she catches his reflection. She smiles back and nods.

"She gives really good advice, I swear!" Maka insists, then continues. "Though she didn't tell me either. I wonder if she knew?" Another sigh, her smile gone. "Anyway, I continued in blissful ignorance, and then, on my twenty-first birthday-I was bitten by a snake, even though Papa was diligent in keeping snakes far away from the kingdom, and I fell into a deep sleep, fulfilling the curse I knew nothing about."

"You're serious." Soul can't entirely mask the incredulity.

"Completely. I wish I weren't." She bites her lip unhappily. Since Ox had told her the truth, she'd done her own research in the first days of her return home, and what she'd discovered had rekindled the anger at her father she'd believed long buried. Driving Mama away with his infidelity had been far from his only sin. Very, very far. "You recall I spoke of how Mama rescued him from a witch? Well, it is true-but not the whole truth. The witch was the powerful and beautiful ruler of a neighboring land, had usurped the throne to rule with an iron fist, and hearing of her great beauty, my father-my fool of a father-went off to woo her."

"He wanted to-to-with the evil witch?"

Maka puts her face in her palm for a moment, ashamed and embarrassed at her own sire, shaking her head. "He did. And he _did_. He wooed her and won her-well, I do not think she has a heart to win, but certainly he gained her attentions for a time. Only, people believed he had been kidnapped, had a spell put upon him. When my mama heard this, she was a knight errant, traveling the lands, and she went to his aid and drove off the witch. And my papa, well, he-you can tell he has a thing for powerful women. So he wooed Mama instead, and won her heart and-they married and had me. Mama was so young, too, and strong, but Papa was handsome, and somehow, she couldn't see past his charm and wit to what was beneath. They wed mere weeks after his rescue, the people of Albarn rejoicing at the return of their King, at the coming of such a powerful Queen, and I was born not a year later.

"Then something good came of it. Sometimes the good is greater than the cost."

 _Is_ she greater than the cost? Maka's not so sure-certainly not in her mama's eyes-but she's glad to hear he thinks so. Her cheeks warm and she bites her lip, muttering, "Maybe," and not letting him say more, far too embarrassed to hear it.

"It-doesn't matter. It cost me, too. The witch, Medusa, she was angry to hear of what happened, angry at her defeat, and she was powerful. So she gathered her two sisters to have her revenge, and upon the celebration of my birth, she and her sisters bestowed their curse upon me-to never be happy in that realm, to always be haunted by my past, and to be bitten by a snake and never awaken on the night of my twenty-first birthday."

His brow creases again. "And you said you were bitten and fell into the sleep. So how-"

"-am I here?" Maka smiles, and to her own surprise, it isn't bitter. It's strange, but had she not been bitten and then awoken, she could never have met Soul and-and she's _glad_ to have met him. Never would she have believed someone could be so selfless and kind beneath such gruffness. Never would she have believed such a person, such a _man_ might exist. "Yes. You see, after the curse was bestowed, another witch arrived and used her magic to change it-to decree that I could be awoken should a prince prove himself worthy and rescue me by bestowing my first kiss."

"Let me guess-Prince Ox?"

"Prince Ox," she sighs. "I slept for four years until he rescued me, and when I returned to Albarn with him, my father was so overjoyed he insisted we were to be wed."

"And you weren't so cool with that." The wry smile Soul gives through their reflections is endearing.

"Not even a little. I told Papa I didn't love Ox, that I didn't want to marry him, but he wouldn't listen. He insisted since I was woken by love's first kiss, Ox must be my true love and so, we would surely live happily ever after. But I don't want that, not with him, not with _anyone_. I don't believe in happily ever after. So I-when Papa wouldn't listen, I ran because what else could I do? Two nights before the wedding, I took some things, I sought Kim, and she helped me come-here."

There's a long, heavy pause between them, then he leans a hand in his chin and ponders her reflection. "So basically, your dad is a gross cheater, and him being a gross cheater drove your mom off and ended with you cursed."

"Basically," Maka agrees with a sigh. "But I guess the point is, we can't chose our family, but we can choose our own path."

His reflection looks troubled, but Soul avoids her gaze as he stands. "I'm glad you could, anyway. You hungry? I'm hungry. Gonna order room service. Up for some sundaes?"

About to protest that they had already eaten, Maka realizes it's been a long, trying few hours, and she is actually hungry, so she stands and nods. "Yes, I would like that."

Apparently, her tale had done him no good. At least, she thinks, Soul knows the truth now, and that part had been cathartic, at least for her. She's never told her story to anyone save Blair, never shared everything about her parents though, of course, it has always been an open secret in the Kingdom, spoken of in hushed whispers she could only just hear. Never had she wished to acknowledge that truth for others, but for him, with him, it somehow feels right, and it strikes her anew how important he has become in so short a time.

The room service doesn't take long, a tall, blond man arriving with a rolling cart containing two covered, silver platters. Oddly, he is wearing earbuds, just visible-and while Maka knows that such things will play music in the ears, it doesn't seem to hinder him from his duties. Just as he is thanking them and Soul is placing money in his gloved hand, there's a meow, and a streak of black shoots out from under the table cloth and leaps into her arms. She looks different, without the purple cast to her fur, but Maka would know her anywhere.

"Blair," she squeals happily to twin stares by the server and Soul alike.

"Wha?" Soul says as the man makes a startled noise in his throat.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Evans, I had no idea-I'll call someone from animal control to remove this," he pauses, distaste dripping from his voice, "- _creature_ -immediately, and my deepest apologies-"

"You will do no such thing!" Maka interrupts, incredulous, as Soul continues to stare. "Blair is my friend, and she's staying right here. Aren't you?" she adds, scratching under the cat's chin, to which the cat replies with a content meow and loud purring.

"Sir?" The man flaps his hands helplessly, and Soul gathers his wits enough to reply.

"Look Mr.-" Soul scans his chest, must catch sight of his name tag "-Law. It's-fine. If Maka says it's her friend, it's her friend. Thanks for the food, and have a good night." He pulls more money from his wallet and pushes it at the man, who looks between them with uncertainty before shaking his head and scurrying back into the elevator and away.

"Definitely gonna get an earful for that shit, but whatever," he grumbles as he eyes Maka warily. For her part, Maka is only half paying attention, too busy snuggling her lost pet in a rush of joy.

"Ah! I should introduce you! Blair, Soul, Soul, Blair."

Soul just blinks, and Blair meows.

"You don't have to be shy," Maka says, beaming down at her oldest friend and companion. "You can say hello and-and tell us how you got here! You didn't listen to my note-I told you not to follow. But-I mean-I _am_ happy to see you!" She realizes she's babbling but it's _Blair_ , and she's _missed_ her, and she thought she'd never see her again, so of course she's happy.

Blair starts to tell her what's happened, and it doesn't matter if she meows because it's part of her heritage as a princess to understand it, but she figures Soul should hear this, too, so she quickly interrupts.

"Could you speak so that Soul can understand, too? He's not a princess like me, so he doesn't-"

Three more meows and she _gets it._

"Oh," Maka says, disappointed. "I didn't realize this place would make it so you can't talk, I'm sorry. I guess I could." She looks to Soul and back to Blair. "Translate?

 _No need_ , Blair meows and then there's a puff of purple smoke and instead of Blair, a woman stands, with purple hair and a witch's hat and _very little_ else.

"B-Blair?" Maka stammers because-she recognizes those yellow eyes, but how can it-?

"Ah, Maka, Kitten!" she stretches her back and grins her way, feral. "I'm glad that worked! Now I can talk to your boy. Hello Maka's boy!" She turns her eyes towards Soul and her smile widens. "Nya, he's cute."

"You-you're _Blair_ ," Maka manages to get out, still a little stunned, because Blair is a _cat_. At least, she's always been a cat before. She's _supposed_ to be a cat. Only now, suddenly, she isn't.

"Of course it's Bu-tan, Kitten. You asked me to talk, and I can't do that here in this form, so Bu-tan had to change. I know, I know." She waves one manicured hand, long purple claws flashing. "You haven't seen Bu-tan this way, but here I am!"

"But why-you never-" It's _confusing._

"I know I look different," she admits with a small pout. "But Bu-tan could always change. With how things were in Albarn, it was just easier to be your kitty. Bu-tan likes being with Maka-kitten, but Bu-tan is also a kitty with a lot of magic." Her smile is fond, and Maka, though confused, smiles back because it's _Blair_ and she's missed her so.

For his part, Soul is still gawking wordlessly like a hooked fish.

"How did you-get here then?" she soldiers on for both of them.

"Wellll…" Blair puts a finger to her chin. "Once you left, after Bu-tan made sure everything was in order, it was time to follow your scent to Kimeal, and she told me where she sent you, so Bu-tan followed here, too. Took a long time to follow your scent here, though, but I found it and I found you, Kitten!"

"I'm so glad!" Maka admits with a smile, and Blair surprises her by scooping her into a bone crunching hug, smooshing her face into ample human cleavage. "Blair!" Maka gasps. "I can't-breathe!"

"Oh! Oh, sorry, Kitten!" The woman with purple hair and purple cat ears and warm golden eyes smiles sheepishly as she steps back. "Bu-tan just missed her little kitty."

"Me too," Maka says, and she could cry she's so happy to see her friend in any form. "I hope Kim wasn't too hard on you," she adds, concerned that the witch had fleeced her favorite pet.

"Oh, Bu-tan has known Kim since before Kitten was even born, no worries." The sharp smile that spreads is a reminder that the woman is, in fact, feline. "She owes Bu-tan a favor or three, so Bu-tan collected. Now-" she shifts her eyes suddenly to Soul, who still looks stunned, frozen in place as he takes in their little reunion. "Tell me about your boyfriend, Kitten."

"He's not-we're not-" Maka sputters, because leave it to Blair to get the entirely wrong idea.

"Sure, Kitten, sure," she offers an exaggerated wink. Meanwhile, Soul's mouth has begun to work.

"A cat," he manages to get out, shaking his head. "She was a fucking cat. And now she's-what-I don't even know-"

"Oh he is adorable, isn't he? Bu-tan can see why you picked him!" Walking over to Soul, she smooshes his cheeks together, then squeals to smush him to her chest much like she had recently done to Maka. He manages a helpless, distressed look her way, and Maka takes pity, calling her friend.

"Um, Blair?"

"Yes, Kitten?" Blair releases her latest victim, who pants for breath, red faced.

"Maybe we should catch up? I didn't tell you but, Prince Ox-"

"Oh, my yes! Bu-tan wants to hear all of her little kitty's adventures!" She tilts her head thoughtfully as she looks between the two of them. "Though, Bu-tan misses Kitten's pets. Maybe…"

"You can change!" Maka says happily, because she's missed petting Blair, too. "I'll tell Soul if you have anything to say to him!"

A puff of purple smoke later and the black cat is back and in her arms and, as she tells her tale to Blair while eating ice cream with Soul, all is right with the world.

Two hours later, Maka is in what she's claimed as her room within this three bedroom suite, laying on her side as Blair curls next to her contentedly. She'd sent Soul to bed an hour ago-he'd started dozing, the dark smudges under his eyes highlighting his exhaustion, and Maka had insisted he needed rest. His protest had been minimal, and really, she is just happy for the time with her lost pet.

But now she's told Blair all about her time here and the strange things she's discovered, wrapping up with how she and Soul had fled here earlier in the evening.

The way that cat blinks slowly at her as Maka continues her ministrations is unnerving. She knows this look-it's the same look Blair always gives before she drops a fireball in her lap-the same look she'd given her when she admitted she'd wet on Papa's latest mistress's bed or when she'd bitten her etiquette tutor on the nose after the woman twisted Maka's arm for curtseying wrong. That look _never_ boded well.

 _So,_ Blair meowed at her. _Your boy insisted on coming._

"He-wanted to come," she says cautiously, willing away the color she already feels rising on her cheeks.

 _Because he was worried. Because he cares about Kitten._ She's purring, but her eyes are also calculating.

"Maybe?" Maka admits.

 _And Kitten cares about him._

"We're friends," she says tersely. "Friends look out for one another- _stop looking at me like that!_ "

Blair just blinks, still purring.

"We're _friends_ ," Maka repeats. "He took me in when everything was new and confusing, he's helped me because he's a good person, but that's _it._ "

 _If you say so, Kitten._ Blair looks smug, knowing, but what does she know, really? Just because Soul makes her feel warm, just because she likes his smile, however rare, just because dancing with him had been so nice, just because he's her friend and she cares about him, it doesn't _mean_ anything. Or at least-she thinks it doesn't. She knows she doesn't want it to mean anything because friendship is safe and-whatever else it could be is scary. That-whatever else-it rarely ends in anything but disaster, and she'll be damned if she went through running from one marriage just to end up in another. She will be better than both her mama and her papa combined.

"I say so," she insists. Blair offers only a loud sniff in reply, so Maka pets her nuisance of a cat until they both drift off to sleep.

* * *

Maka wakes up to blinding light streaming in through the floor to ceiling window and a note on her pillow:

 _Kitten,_

 _Bu-tan had a few things to see to, plus Kitten needs time with her boy. Will find you when it's time, but if you call for me, Bu-tan will always come._

 _Love,_

 _Blair_

Gone? Blair had only just found them and _she's already gone?_ Maka knows her cat, knows she will find her, but it hurts just a little that she's left so soon. Still, there's no sense dwelling on what she can't change, so she doesn't, instead throwing on some clothes-she'd packed jeans and a light sweater among a few other things-and making her way into the living room. Catching her image in the windows, she still marvels at the existence of feminine trousers. _Brilliant._

The little clock on her nightstand had read 10:00, and she can't help but wonder if Soul is up. It had been a late night and, from what she's been able to tell so far, he's not an early riser, but somehow, the thought of being alone just now puts her insides in knots, so she hopes beyond hope he's awake.

The real surprise comes when he actually _is._

He's up at a dining table tucked onto one side of the suite main room in front of the windows, shoveling in eggs from a laden plate as he flips the channels of a nearby television idly. Noticing her as she nears the table, he grins her way and swallows down his mouthful before gesturing across from him where there's a covered dish waiting.

"I ordered breakfast. There's juice and coffee, too, if you want." He waves a hand over to the little cart nearby.

"Ah, thanks," she replies as she lifts the dish to a pile of steaming hotcakes and sausage, her new favorite breakfast. It's amazing to her, sometimes, how much he catches the little things, and she couldn't fight back the warm smile she offers if she wanted to.

"Welcome," Soul grunts around a second mouthful.

They eat in companionable silence, clean up just the same, and then they are left without a plan.

What does one do when running from an egomaniacal prince on a mission anyway?

"So I was thinking," he finally says as they stand awkwardly, both seeming unsure in a way they haven't been since they first met so many days ago. "Since you need to stay on the move, we can just see more of the city if you want. I know you mentioned being curious about the art museum, and well, I doubt your prince is going to be trolling the sights looking for you. If he's got that charm or whatever, it's probably better if you can get lost in the crowd, right?"

"Right!" Maka says, voice bright, because she really has wanted to see the museum since watching a television program with such a visit a few days back, and the distraction would be more than welcome.

It's a nice day, if a bit cool for the desert spring, so they decide to walk. In the daylight, the hotel they leave behind is even more of a marvel, shining brightly in the sunshine, and she gawks a bit, much to Soul's apparent amusement.

"Are princesses allowed to gawk?" he asks, laughing.

"Oh, shut it." Maka throws an elbow to his ribs, but it's playful, Soul's protests feigned. They've established a camaraderie in their time together, an equilibrium that's just _nice._ _He's_ just nice, though such thoughts are dangerous, so she stuffs that one down in the depths of _not gonna happen_ as they keep walking.

They reach the museum soon enough and then it's hours of wonder, of amazement that so much variety can exist, that so much beauty could spring from the minds of man. In Albarn, in her world, music is important, but visual art is-less so. It tends to be pretty but only just pretty-where here, it is ugly and beautiful and masterful and daring. It evokes everything and nothing. Somehow, it reminds her of how strange and textured and varied this new world is, of how her memories of her old world, her old self, seem flat and dead in comparison. She's in _awe._

For his part, Soul appears to be largely bored, his eyes more often on her than on the paintings and sculpture and other pieces.

"Don't you find it fascinating?" Maka asks at some point, puzzled by his lack of enthusiasm because how could he _not_ be inspired?

"Eh," he shrugs. "Nothing I haven't seen. Nothing I wasn't dragged to a thousand times as a kid. But I'm glad you think it's cool."

Maybe it's because it's so new, so different that it strikes her so, but whatever the case, he seems content to let her drink her fill, to drink the place in to the lees as it were, and Maka's more than happy to do just that.

By the time she's ready to go, they step outside and it's dark and she realizes she's _starving_. Which means, Soul must be, too, that she's let herself get lost in it all and has been completely selfish. Turning to him, brow furrowed, she says as much. "I'm sorry I lost track of time-you must be so hungry-you should have said something!"

"Nah." Soul puts his hands behind his head as they make their way down the steps, looking relaxed, content even. "'S fine. Are you hungry, though?"

"Famished!" she admits, and he laughs and shakes his head.

"Leave it to you to be so engrossed you forget to eat." It's playful, but she feels herself color nonetheless. "I know a place," he adds. "If you want?"

Mostly, they've done take out since he's not much for people from what Maka can tell, so the idea of going out somewhere for a meal intrigues her.

"Of course!"

Grinning at her enthusiasm, Soul leads them through streets and alleyways until they hit a dark little road with several well lit places dotting the way. There are lettered signs glowing in what they call neon, each with a different name, but they finally enter one called _The Little Demon,_ and Soul steers them to a small table not far from the stage where a quartet of performers make the type of music that Maka's pretty sure she recognizes as what Soul had called jazz.

The place is dark and smoky and strange, with red and black checkered tile, black lacquered tables, and red velvet hangings. Somehow, it reminds her of Soul.

The menu is sparse-sandwiches and soups and salads. Maka orders a salad and some wine, Soul gets a burger and beer, and they focus on the music. It's odd, though interesting. She can't say she _gets it_ , but she doesn't hate it either. For his part, Soul seems enthralled, foot tapping along, fingers occasionally working invisible keys on the tabletop, eyes hazy as he just listens. She'll admit that she'd rather watch him, watch how the music takes him places she'll never go than try to understand it herself, and thinks maybe that's how the museum had been for him. It would explain how much he'd stared, anyway.

As the quartet breaks, Soul turns to her expectantly, eyes bright. "So, did you like it?"

"Yeah, it's great!" Her enthusiasm isn't feigned, though it's _his_ enthusiasm that captivates.

"Right? This place is awesome. They get some really good acts."

Their conversation is hushed as the quartet resumes, and Soul is so absorbed, Maka can't bring herself to ask him to go, so they remain long into the night. As the band is packing and the waitstaff cleaning, other patrons fled, an idea comes to her. This place clearly speaks to him, _is_ him in a way, perhaps _this_ is what he does? This is the music he himself plays? It's different from what she'd heard him play when they first met, but that doesn't mean he isn't capable of both.

"Would you play for me?" she suddenly blurts.

"Huh?" Soul blinks her way, his fog lifting. "Maka, they're closing up, we should go, I don't think-"

"You could ask-I'll bet they wouldn't mind-excuse me!" she bolts up from the table as a tall, curvy woman with long, blond hair passes. "Do you think my friend could borrow the piano for a few minutes?"

The woman looks them both up and down before popping her gum. "Sure thing, just be out before we lock up." She holds out an expectant hand and Maka has no idea why, but Soul walks up behind and slips her something green. "Pleasure doing business with ya. I'm Liz if you need anything," she says as she strolls off behind the bar to continue cleaning.

Behind her, Soul sighs. "You really shouldn't have."

"Please?"

She must relay her enthusiasm because Soul sighs again, but then makes for the stage. "One song," he calls over his shoulder. "Then we go."

"One song!" Maka agrees, unable to keep the triumph from her voice. If this is what Soul does, then she wants to hear, wants to see him in his element, though she doesn't dare parse why it's suddenly so important to her.

As he sits to play, he looks up at her, face unreadable-and then, his fingers hit the keys and the world is his. Maka gets lost in his music, and it's like what they've listened to but not, like what he'd played before but not. It's captivating-a little dark, a little wild, a little sombre, a little playful. She could bask in it, drown in it. Music is part of her legacy as a princess, but she's never understood it, not really. But this? She may not understand it, but she _gets_ it, it resonates, it's _him._

It's over too soon, and other applause joins hers.

"You're great," the tall blonde from before, Liz, walks up. "You should do an audition. I'm sure Sid'd take you in a heartbeat."

"Uh, thanks," Soul says gruffly, and fishing in his pocket, shoves another bill her way before hopping off stage. Maka follows, surprised.

"Don't you play here? Is this not where you work as a concert pianist?" she asks, confused, and is surprised when he recoils as if he'd been slapped before quickly recovering, face carefully neutral. "I mean, I know you play music, so I thought-"

"Nah, not this type. Shit I play is boring. They'd never let me near a joint like this no matter what that girl said." Maka notes how his fist clenches at his side as he stops in the middle of the room, belying the bored tone, the mask of indifference.

"Your music is not boring!" Maka can't help the incredulity because she'd heard him before, has only just heard him again, and it had been-like the art, like the museum, _amazing._

"That was just-that's not what I play." The brush off is unexpected. "I play symphony shit. Classical. The shit my parents made sure I could get perfect down to the least sixteenth note."

There's defeat in his eyes, and something _clicks._ "But you hate it."

"Don't love it," he half grunts. "'S not- _me,_ I guess. But it's a living."

"But this music is you?" She lets her gaze sweep the room.

"Dunno." His shoulder lifts slightly. "Maybe. Not like it _matters._ "

"Because your parents want you to-to play different music, right? The music that's not you?"

He looks surprised for a moment, then shrugs again. "An Evans doesn't play jazz," Soul says, his voice going deeper, more refined.

"You don't have to do what they want, Soul." She's quiet, careful. "You're your own person, your own man. You can play jazz. You can play _anything_."

"They'd disown me." It's bitter, his look, his voice.

"That would be on them." Maka searches his gaze, glued downwards, fixed on his hands. "If I did what Papa wanted, I'd be married to Ox. But-I couldn't. And if this is what you want? Then it's what you should do. What would happen if they disowned you?

There is some realization dawning as he looks up at her. "Dunno. They could cut me out of the will. 'D still have my trust, though. _Shit._ "

Maka is about to smile, to encourage, but he deflates before she ever gets the chance. "Doesn't matter, we should go."

And they do, they start to walk again, and Maka can't help but think that somehow, someway, she's failed him. His face is tense and he grabs her arm, pulling her to one side, and before she can shout her surprise, his finger is to his lips, desperate, and following where his eyes stray, she sees it, sees _him._

Oh no. Not again. _Not again._ Kim. It was all _Kim._

Because there, not twenty feet away across the club, is the prince, his armored retainer in tow. Ox's eyes widen in surprise as he catches sight of them.

"My love!" he sings out, and oh gods, _oh gods_ , the music swells again.

"Oh, my love! My darling! I've found you once again!" He approaches, voice swelling. Maka cringes, can practically feel Soul tense beside her. "This time, for good! For I won't let you go now, this cad shall pay the price! And you'll be miiii-" Maka's about to summon her sword when his singing chokes to a halt in a blur of purple and flesh, and suddenly, Ox is on the floor, straddled by Blair's human form, face smothered in a massive quantity of sheer _breast._

"Maka, Kitten, Go!" she grins up at them cattishly. "Bu-tan has this!"

"Come on!" Maka pulls a stunned Soul by the hand, unwilling to waste her friend's sacrifice. She eyes the man with him warily, but the knight just shrugs as if to say _none of my business_ as they pass, and Maka tugs Soul out of the club and into the night. " _Run!_ " she says forcefully, and pulling him along, they both speed away from her would be wooer for the second time in as many days.

* * *

They find themselves in a seedy little motel, with nothing but the shirts on their backs. Maka is unwilling to risk returning to the glass hotel, unwilling to risk that Ox had tracked them to the club from there.

She's afraid she'll have to kill him to keep him from killing Soul and forcing her back home, and she doesn't want to go there-she _can't_ go there. Ox may be annoying and deluded, but he isn't evil, and Maka just isn't quite that selfish. If she has to run forever, so be it.

"Fuck, what a dump," Soul grumbles as they close the door to the little room. There are two beds with worn covers, some fading art on the walls over equally fading wallpaper, a television, a few small tables, and some very worn looking carpet on the floor. Soul had called this a 'flea trap' when she tugged him this way, and Maka is inclined to agree, but then, it's also the last place someone like Ox would ever expect to find a princess.

Flopping on the bed, Soul blinks up at her, hands behind his head. "Is this _really_ necessary?"

"Do you want to run into Ox again?" she snaps, beyond frustrated with the situation herself.

His sigh is answer enough. "Noted. Roach motel it is."

Maka makes a face, nose wrinkling. "Really?"

Soul shrugs. "Probably." He grins up her way. "But you can just sing them into compliance, so."

True as that is, she prefers not to sleep where it's dirty enough to attract roaches, and this place does rather remind her of the seedy little inns that dot the road to Albarn, the type she'd snuck off to as a teen to get a feel for what it was like to be something _other_ than a sheltered princess.

"Whatever." She rolls her eyes his way, the mannerisms of this world growing on her steadily. She kicks off her shoes and flops onto the other bed, exhausted. "There are worse things than roaches."

"Like princes?"

Maka looks over to find Soul's eyebrows raised, amused smirk on his face.

"Like princes," she agrees, and they both laugh.

Before long, a late night episode of _Law and Order_ is on courtesy of one of the cable channels. In her mass consumption of television during her time here, Maka has found courtroom dramas to be her favorite. The police and the lawyers are something like the knights of her own realm, protecting people and doing good, fighting the good fight against the forces of darkness. It reminds her of her mama, and she thinks it wouldn't be so bad, to lay down the sword and take up a pen, a podium, and her wits.

As she's drifting off into slumber on their second episode, this one about a jazz musician falsely accused, she hears Soul's voice call out, "Hey, Maka?"

It crosses her mind for a fleeting instant that she's falling asleep with a man in the room, a gross impropriety, but it's Soul and she trusts him.

"Mmmm," she answers as the thought flees, eyes closed, the soft hum of television in the background.

"Been thinking, and you're right."

"Aren't I usually?" she sighs, smiling at his responding chuckle. "But what about this time?"

There's a pause and she opens her eyes, nearly turning to her side to look at him, but then he speaks. "Music. I should-I should try it. Jazz, I mean. Being a concert pianist, that was Dad's dream, not mine. So yeah. Thought you should know."

"Mmm." Her eyes flutter closed again, content. "That's great, Soul. I'm really glad."

"Me too," his voice is soft, soothing, lulling her deeper towards slumber. "Thanks, Maka."

"Welcome," she murmurs as the world fades to warm static.

* * *

Maka wakes to a splitting headache and the sound of a shower. There's a box on the little table near the window that reads Death Donuts, along with some napkins, and the sound of Soul's voice, muffled by the noise of water.

Funny to think she can so easily recognize the noise when two weeks ago, she couldn't have told you what a shower even _is._

Flipping open the box, she pulls out a powdered pastry and chews thoughtfully. If this is to be her life, well, at least she has Soul. Maybe it isn't knighthood, but it's better than marriage to Ox, anyway.

It's too bad Ox is the one who rescued her. Too bad it couldn't have been-

What a silly thought. It couldn't have been Soul, of course not! And she shouldn't _want_ it to be, either. But still-his warm eyes, strong hands, kindness, loyalty, even his snark. She can't help but feel being married to Soul would be very different from being married to Ox, and she wonders, if it had been him, would she still have run?

The fact she can't say, the fact she even thinks, deep down, maybe she wouldn't have scares her, so she shifts her focus to his muffled singing, trying to pick out the words.

The fact he sings in the shower when he's so openly teased her over her own song is beyond amusing. Endearing, even.

"...are you woman enough to be my man, bandaged hand in hand." The words are faint, but she manages to catch them and they make her blush, the thought of Soul singing a love song.

Maka shoves in another bite of donut, chewing with vigor, anything but to let her thoughts keep drifting in such ridiculous ways.

The shower turns off, his voice fades, and she's relieved when the door clicks open, though it's short lived because, really, Soul in jeans with a towel slung over his glistening, naked chest should not make her feel hot, but it does. And he's got a scar, long and jagged, from shoulder to hip. She wonders where it came from, if it hurts. Would sort of like to touch it, run her fingers down the length and-

 _What is this nonsense?_

Another rough bite of donut and he arrives at the table, hovering over her to grab up his own pastry and _she doesn't need this._

Bolting up, Maka calls out, "My turn," and scurries off into the bathroom, hoping the shower will clear her head, and it does. It's only too bad it can't do the same for the stirrings in her heart.

An hour later, they're gone. Soul has handled what is called 'check out,' and they're wandering aimlessly, no plan and nowhere to go. Ox has become the bane of both of their existences, and Maka realizes, suddenly and forcefully, how unfair this is to Soul. Not that she hadn't known, but if he wants to try playing jazz, to build a different kind of life, this certainly won't help.

The thought consumes her all morning, through a quiet lunch, and into the afternoon. This isn't _fair_.

They are passing by a shop with a wall of TVs in the window when Maka finally pauses, and Soul looks back, confused.

"You don't have to do this," she says firmly, gaze fixed on his own.

"Huh?" Soul runs hand through his hair, clearly confused.

"Staying with me," she clarifies. "You don't have to. I can take care of myself, and it's really not fair-"

"Maka, it's-" he begins, but suddenly, his eyes flick to one of the televisions "-well _no shit?_ "

It's her turn to be confused until her gaze follows his and she _knows._ Because there, right on the big screen for all to see, is Ox of Ford, riding atop a bus, sword puncturing the roof as he screams that he will slay this beast to rescue his beloved.

"He's mad," she breathes, shaking her head. "Absolutely _mad_."

"You think?" Soul sounds incredulous, then sighs. "He's gonna fucking hurt someone."

"He is," Maka agrees, clenching her fist.

"We need to stop this, don't we?" Another sigh.

" _I_ do, yes," Maka confirms. "Do you know where that vehicle is?"

The irony that they now must chase the man they've been running from doesn't elude her, but she refuses to allow anyone to be harmed in her name.

Soul purses his lips in thought. "I think that's the Death Center Park line, runs around the perimeter."

"Which way?" Maka asks, eyes meeting his grimly.

Gesturing vaguely to the west, he says, "I'll take you."

"Soul…" Her voice is tense. He has a _life_ , and she can't stand the thought of him getting caught up in this, of him getting _hurt_.

"Don't worry." His grin is sharp. "This time, you'll lead."

Her heart swells at his words, his smile, his utter faith in _her_ , and Maka nods and grabs his hand to hurry their way across the city before Prince Ox can do far more damage than he's worth.

It turns out Death Center Park is _big._

This is a fact Maka had vaguely known as they'd visited its edges and skirted it over the course of the week, but making their way through and around, it could take hours, it could take _days_. They might never find the prince amidst the trees and the people.

"He was on this side," Soul offers as they strike down a path. "I mean, the bus was, anyway. So I guess we-wander and listen for the sound of panic?"

Since it's not as if she has a better plan, Maka nods her agreement and grabs his hand again, tugging him along. He doesn't question that she's taken it, and she's glad. Feeling his hand, warm and solid, gives her an odd, inexplicable sort of comfort.

For a good hour, they walk path after path, making their way through the east side of the park, watching and listening and waiting.

When Soul tugs her to a halt, suddenly, forcefully, her first instinct is to snap, but he puts a finger to his lips with one hand and points across the way to a field with the other and oh, _oh,_ that's why.

There's a lone figure to the left in the field of grass, a faint swell of music drifting on the breeze along with his voice. It's Ox, and he looks-well, honestly pathetic. There are dark shadows ringing his eyes beneath his trademark spectacles, his velvet attire is torn and soiled and sad in ways she hadn't noticed in the hazy light of the club, and once again, he's _singing._

"They said you'd give me treasures beyond compare. They said you'd love me, you'd be my love, my queen most fair." There is despair in his voice and Maka almost feels bad for him. "Damn all the promises that were made, from the cradle to the grave, when all I want is home."

 _What now?_

In the distance, she can see him kick the ground.

"You say you want nothing to do with me. But to last my life, I need a kingdom, a birthright!"

Is he saying- _-surely he can't be saying…?_ But as he goes on, it's clear he really _is_. "You run from me, run from a life of gold, our story to remain untold, a love so pure it's cold."

Maybe… maybe they don't have to fight after all? Maybe, just maybe, there can be another way.

"For the promise that was made, I might have learned to love, to hold, for all I want is home!"

The song swells to a close, and Maka knows what she needs to do. Suddenly. Clearly.

"You heard that, right?" Soul looks down at her, confused. "He doesn't even-he just-"

"I know." A grin slowly spreads across her lips. "It's _perfect_."

When Soul looks even more confused, Maka tugs on his hand and says over her shoulder, "Just. Watch."

And then they're across the field, and she's calling out, "Ox, Prince of Ford, I would parlay!"

A few people who had been staring at the strange, singing prince eye them with amusement, and Sir D'Eclair looks towards them warily, but Ox seems genuinely pleased as he calls out, "My love!" and hurries their way.

Unwilling to let him approach too closely without understanding first, Maka puts up a hand, shouting, "Halt! This is parlay, therefore, we will meet on neutral terms."

"But-my love?" His face falls.

"No, you will address me as Princess Maka and you will keep your blade sheathed as you approach."

"I-" his step falters. "As you wish, Highness." He does not draw his blade, removes his hand from the pommel, and lets them draw nearer on their terms.

"I will free you from his spell," he says softly as they approach, but Maka shakes her head in response.

"There is no spell, Prince Ox, only my free will. I do not love you and have no wish to marry you." His face falls further, dejected, so she holds up a placating hand. "But," she adds, "You have done me great service by rescuing me, and I would reward you. It would seem you have wish for a Kingdom. As it so happens, I have no wish for the one I am to claim upon my father's demise, no wish to be his heir. Therefore, in the interest of all parties, I would sign my inheritance over to you, my prince, if you would have it."

"You-you will?" Ox blinks at her, stunned. "I don't-" he begins shaking his head.

"But only if-"

"If _what?_ " he interrupts, suddenly kicked by her words into skepticism.

"If you agree to stop pursuing me, to stop trying to take me to back, only if you cease declaring your love for I will never love you in return."

He lets out a deep breath. "Is that all?"

"Y-yes?" Maka can't help her confusion at his quick shifts.

"Done!" he says happily. "To be honest, Princess, you really wouldn't have been-ah-my first choice."

There's a snort, and Maka swivels her gaze towards a very amused looking Sir D'Eclair. At her questioning look, he shrugs. "He seems to prefer pink-haired witches."

The way Ox colors only confirms the statement, and it's Maka's turn to snort.

"Yeah, good luck with that," she offers with an amused smile and shake of the head. Maka had seen Kim and her 'assistant' together first hand, and if the little looks and touches they exchanged were anything to go by, then Kim is far out of his reach. She's probably far out of his reach in any case."If we've come to an accord, then, shall we draw up terms?"

Ox agrees readily, and Maka summons her pouch with royal seal from the same nether space in which she stores the sword, sitting on the grass to get to work and only stopping as she hears a loud throat clearing from above her.

Eyes turning that way, she sees Soul frown, looking rather incredulous. "So that's- _it_?"

"Yep!" she says happily, and he scoffs, shakes his head, but then smiles.

"You people are so fucking weird," he grumbles as he sits down on the grass beside her.

It doesn't take long for the terms to be drawn up to the satisfaction of all parties, and Maka sends off her one time betrothed with a pleased smile. If she'd known all he wanted was her Kingdom, she might have avoided this entire mess.

Then again, her heart sinks, had she known all Ox wanted was her Kingdom, then Maka would never have come to this world, would never have met Soul.

Perhaps things worked out as they were meant to after all.

"Well that was-strange," Soul says as they both watch Ox walk off with his retainer into the sunset.

"I think-I think all is as it should be," Maka finally settles on with a content sigh, the new world spread out before her in all its glory.

Soul seems about to say more, but before he gets the chance, there's a puff of purple smoke, and Blair stands next to them, also watching Ox fade into the waning light.

"Of course it is, Kitten," she says happily, clapping her hands together. "I'm so glad you figured it out!"

Maka blinks at Blair, her turn to be confused again. "You mean, you knew Ox just wanted Albarn?"

"Bu-tan knew it wasn't true love," she admits with a small shrug. "What his motives really were Bu-tan couldn't be certain, but that you held no love for one another has been true from the start-"

"So Kim was right, my curse wasn't broken by true love's kiss!"

Blair laughs lightly, waving a hand. "Of course not, Kitten! If you were never to be happy in your own world, Bu-tan couldn't very well weave such a thing into the curse!"

"Wait-what?" Turning to face her longtime friend fully, Maka's eyes narrow. "You-you did _what_ to the curse?"

"Well, you see-" Blair squirms the slightest bit. "Bu-tan is, well, Kitten's Fairy Godmother, and so, when that awful Medusa cursed you, well, _something_ had to be done!"

"So the stories are true. You altered the curse. _You're Bellamore!_ "

"Of course!" Her smile is soft and a bit proud. "Blair is short Bellamore, Witch of the Feline Forest and your protector."

"Wait," Soul speaks for the first time in several minutes, looking between the two of them. "You said she couldn't fall in love with Ox because she was cursed to never be happy in her own realm-does that mean she-can be happy in _this one?_ "

"Smart boy!" Blair's smile becomes predatory as she ruffles his hair. He scowls at her, batting away her hand in annoyance. "You should keep him, Kitten, Bu-tan means it. But yes, my little Kitten can be happy here if she chooses. At this point, it's in her hands." The shrug is slight but meaningful. "Anywaaaay~" Blair practically sings. "Bu-tan has a few things to clear up in the other realm, but we'll see each other again soon." Stooping, she hugs Maka and offers her a kiss on the cheek, then turns to Soul for an instant. "Take good care of my Kitten," she says, then she's gone in a puff of scented purple smoke.

For a few moments, they both stand blinking after the rapidly dissipating purple cloud before finally turning eyes to one another.

Her heart feels full, her new life before her, and Blair said- _Blair said_ she could be happy.

"So?" Soul asks, a loaded question in such a small word.

"So," Maka echoes, meeting his curious stare.

"What now?" he prods gently, hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck, and when she doesn't answer right away, adds,"What I mean to say is-what'll you do? You don't have to run anymore, right? I mean-unless that Medusa could still come for you, or your father."

"I-don't think so," she says, biting her lip in thought. "Medusa is long gone, rumored to be ruling the Moon Kingdom from the shadows along with her sisters, controlling the puppet King Asura. After doing a little research, I'm pretty sure she only cursed me to begin with because she was angry that my mother defeated her, and with Mama long gone, well-the witch Medusa is rumored to be vindictive, but her rage doesn't tend to last so very long."

"And your Dad?"

Maka offers a shrug. "Papa can come if he will, and of course I will see him, but he can't make me return. I'm not worried about Papa."

"So you're free," Soul says, and there's something in his eyes she can't place, something a little sad and maybe a little proud.

"I'm free," Maka agrees.

"What'll you do now?"

"Mmmm… I'm not sure," she sighs. "This world is still very new. But I think-I might like to become one of your lawyers. Mama's a knight who fights injustice and protects the innocent, and isn't this what your lawyers do?"

He snorts, a bit incredulous, but then concedes, "The good ones, maybe. And that'll make you happy, you think?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I think-I think I still have to find my path, but it's a start, anyway."

"And-" Soul hesitates, uncertainty furrowing his brow, but something like resolve then flashes in his eyes and he pushes on. "Do you think there's room on that path-for friends? Do you think there's room-I mean, could there be room." He pauses, swallows, searches her gaze. "For _me_?"

His hesitance, the way he asks, the way it's her choice and hers alone if he remains a part of her life-her heart swells. _Yes_ , she thinks to herself. Because she is Maka-not her mama and not her papa, and because happiness is hers to find-yes, there is room for him. And to erase the end of her old life and start her new one off right, to make it _her choice_ and maybe his, too, and because it feels _right_ , she leans forward, leans up, and presses her lips softly to his.

It lasts but an instant and it's done, but unlike her first, this kiss is her choice, this kiss is the one she'll always remember, warm and soft and right.

"Does that answer your question?" she breathes, and his smile, so fond and genuine, tells her all she needs to know as she takes his hand and they walk off into the sunset together.


End file.
